


Let This Promise in Me Start Like an Anthem in My Heart

by lunaraindrop



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Chess, Enchanted references, Episode 4x13, Episode Fix-it, F/F, F/M, Family Reunions, Fillory and further, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Indiana Jones References, M/M, Marriage Proposal, My version on how season 5 should go, No Character Death, Peaches and Plums, Pop Culture, Recovery from trauma, Timey-Wimey, switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaraindrop/pseuds/lunaraindrop
Summary: The Monster and his sister are gone. Eliot and Julia are free. Unfortunately, Eliot is stuck in Brakebills Infirmary until he recovers. How is a man supposed to confess his love and seduce an adorable nerd in these conditions?This is a story about love, healing, and family... and maybe some booze, chess, music, shenanigans, and good fruit along the way.





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, everyone! This is actually my second Magicians fic, but my first ever to be published! (The first one was basically crack.) After that finale, I knew I had to do something to fix the story. Quentin's discipline might be minor mending, but mine is narrative mending. As a Quentin Coldwater myself, I knew I had to fight back and show that his story can and will continue and that LGBT relationships can be happy. Quentin is ours now. Long live Queliot. Peaches and Plums, Motherfucker.
> 
> Note: Notice the tags. I might add to them as the story progresses. There are shenanigans afoot. Also, never let Margo be your matchmaker.

* * *

 

The weeks following getting Eliot and Julia back were…strange.

Oh sure, everyone celebrated and cried when they finally got their friends back. It was practically a dogpile mixture of emotionally repressed and overly emotional magicians.

Dams broke.

Carefully crafted walls crumbled into dust.

Words were lost in hysterical relieved laugher, creative cursing, and drowning tears.

Margo had sobbed, refusing to let go of Eliot for hours. Even when he was moved to an infirmary bed, she curled at his side like a faithful cat. Eliot was no better. He clutched her small frame to him, and smoothed her lustrous hair, whispering “Bambi” over and over. All the while Quentin stayed near, never far from Eliot’s other side. While Eliot was soothing his favorite destroyer, he let himself be taken care of by the fool that owned his heart. If he needed water, Quentin would lift a cup to his lips. If he got cold, he would let Quentin cover him up with the sub-par 18ed0 thread count sheets. When he just needed reassurance that he was actually here, actually free and in charge of his body again, he would squeeze Q’s hand a little tighter and just breathe the smell of his hair.

Nothing beat the smell of Q’s hair.

Eliot wasn’t stupid though.

He saw the dark circles under Quentin’s eyes. He could tell that he was in need of a decent meal and possible IV fluids. It was clear stress and trauma had taken their tolls on him, and that Q was not taking very good care of himself.

When the sweet dork started to nod off in the chair the first night, Eliot told him to get into the bed too.

“Quentin, get over here before you pass out.”

He lifted the sheet and rubbed the empty spot by his hip.

Quentin had blushed and stammered, avoiding Eliot’s eyes.

“Oh, umm, tha-that’s okay.”

He looked back at him, giving Eliot a nervous smile that didn’t really reach his eyes.

“I don’t think I would even fit.”

Memories of the two men sharing a small pallet in a Fillorian cottage, naturally coming together like perfect puzzle pieces flit across his mind.

Eliot was not having it.

“Get in this bed right now Q, or I’ll make you go home to sleep.”

That seemed to wake Quentin up a little. Brown eyes widened in panic.

“No, come on El-”

“Do it or I’ll drag your ass out for him.” came Margo’s muffled voice from under Eliot’s arm.

That was how a cautious, careful Quentin Coldwater ended up in his bed. It took a few moments of awkward movements and stiff joints, but when Quentin finally allowed himself to relax, it was like puppet strings were cut. The change was almost instant. There was a heaviness to him like his grief and hope and determination were mountains on his shoulders, and Eliot pulled the pin holding them all up. They rolled down his body, allowing him to fit himself as close as humanly possible into a spot he and Eliot had carved into each other decades ago. Q tucked his head between Eliot’s neck and shoulder. Slightly chapped lips brushed the column of Eliot’s throat, haunting like the ghosts of kisses from another time and place. A contented sigh sang from those lips.

It felt like warm nights spent under the stars.

It felt like peach nectar lighting the taste buds on his tongue.

It felt like home.

Surrounded by the people he loved most, Eliot had not felt so safe and loved in such a long time. He still planned on following his promise of telling Quentin the truth, but that would have to wait. He needed to recover enough that he could keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. He had never fallen asleep so fast.

* * *

 

 

It didn’t seem all too strange to him that Alice kept popping up near his bed. After all, everyone came to visit and check up on he and Julia (although her recovery was much quicker). It was that day, three days after waking up in his body, that Eliot knew Quentin and Alice were back together.

It was a simple gesture. She brought Q a sandwich. That in itself was not usual. Josh had done something similar that morning by bringing all three of them coffee and blueberry scones. (Which apparently Josh and Margo were a _thing_ now. He had so much to catch up on.) The sandwich was just for Quentin though. A BLT on wheat was not the most romantic of sandwiches. (At least Josh laced the scones with hazelnut and lemon zest. Alice got her sandwich from a Walmart deli.) What really sold it though was the kiss she placed on his cheek.

It was just a simple, soft peck on the apple of his cheek. It wasn’t like she yanked Quentin out of the infirmary bed to screw him on the floor. However, for Alice Quinn, a kiss on the cheek was a big deal. She might as well have branded Q with “Property of Alice” on his forehead.

Eliot and Margo shared a look.

 

* * *

 

 

While she might not have known the story on what had happened between Eliot and Q (and oh boy, was she going to drill the hell out of Eliot later for that), but it was obvious there was something serious was going on between the two.

To Margo, it made perfect sense for her to keep both her human and fairy eye on the man. She and El were a package deal. She gave up a kingdom for him. No way in hell would she leave him, even if he asked (which he didn’t).

Q was not Margo, though.

He might have been their best friend, but even best friends leave to drop a duce or take a shower. Quentin did neither. The only times he would untangle himself from the former High King’s long limbs would be to do something _for_ Eliot, or if Eliot was being checked over by healers. (It was during these checks that he would waddle to the in-room patient bathroom. Margo actually timed his last shower at three minutes and forty-six seconds. She was actually kind of impressed he didn’t hurt himself.) It was at Julia’s request that Penny 23 brought him a change of clothes. Before that, he was wearing hideous pistachio colored scrubs. His other clothes had been covered in blood.

He was a dutiful sentry. He was a clumsy yet well-meaning nurse. He was a fanboy storyteller, a self-conscious octopus, and looked at El like he hung the moon. (Not hung _like_ the moon. The only bedroom eyes she saw from that nerd were of the good Moscato and romantic candlelight variety.)

And Eliot? He looked softly at Q, like he was being crowned by him all over again.

Quentin and Eliot were not acting like two best friends that survived an ordeal.

They were acting like fucking _lovers_.

So it was very odd that Q was in a relationship with Alice when it was clear who he was in love with. Seeing Alice Quinn place her lips anywhere near Quentin in this situation just seemed wrong. She was kind of surprised Alice seemed blind to the tension between the men.

 Maybe it was a fairy eye thing. Who fucking knew?

She was going to get some damn answers though.

Margo leaned over Eliot’s body.

“What was that, Coldwater?”

Quentin pursed his lips and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Right. We, uhh-Alice and I worked out some things, and decided to try.”

“On what?”

“On us.”

* * *

 

 

Eliot had stayed silent through their conversation. He could feel the dread sinking his muscles to the earth’s core.

 

_I’m too late._

 

Quentin had moved on and with Alice.

 

_Of course. I should have seen that coming._

 

He composed himself and put on his best mask. He was Eliot Waugh. He perfected the art of wearing masks.

Eliot closed his eyes and slowly rolled his head to catch his favorite nerd’s eyes.

He just hoped heartache did not show through any cracks.

“She make you happy, Q?”

This made Quentin pause and blink.

“Umm, it’s more that I can make her happy, I think? She really wants to try.”

That cut to the quick.

 

_She really wants to try._

 

And Eliot had not.

Margo scoffed.

“That’s bullshit.”

Eliot held up his hand to shush her.

“Okay, let’s try this. Is that what you want to do? Do you want to try and make the thing work with Alice?”

For a split-second, Q looked perplexed. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. It was obvious that he was taking a moment to actually think of his answer.

It was becoming more and more apparent to Eliot that Quentin was not often asked what _he_ wanted. For him to have to turn the wheels in his head over something like if he wanted to be in a relationship with someone was really telling.

Quentin Coldwater never really gets a chance to choose something. He is often told how things are going to be and accepts them.

It hurt Eliot to know he was guilty of doing this to Q too.

Finally, Quentin unscrunched his face and nodded his head.

 “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. Everything in how it ended was so messed up. This feels like we’re actually working through some issues.”

Quentin looked him in the eyes and shrugged. “It’s good.”

Eliot slowly lifted his chin and swallowed what felt like bile. That answer was something bitter to digest.

Still, this was about what Quentin wanted. Eliot was done with not giving Quentin what he wanted.

He tipped him a half smile.

“Then I’m happy for you.”

Catching Quentin’s eyes again, he saw that familiar look. The one he gave before he got into the bed. There was a smile on Q’s face, but it didn’t really reach his eyes.

That made Eliot pause. He knew that look. Fifty years with someone teaches you many things. Quentin was putting on his own mask. Something was making him miserable, but he was trying to be a self-sacrificing sad sack and pretending to be happy.

Quentin Coldwater was pretending to be happy with Alice.

He wanted to say something about this, but he bit his tongue. As much as he wanted Q, he knew he needed to be careful. For whose benefit was Quentin making himself miserable over?

* * *

Three things happened at that moment.

Margo vowed to herself that she was going to do everything in her power to deliver one trussed up and naked Q on a silver platter to her best friend. No offense to Alice.... but blondie be damned. This was some true love bullshit happening in front of her eyes, and she was not going to let those two idiots mess it up.

Eliot decided that he would give himself one month to get his shit together and confess his feelings. Even if Quentin decided to stay with Alice, he needed to know he had a choice. Until then, it was his mission to make the smile reach Q’s beautiful brown eyes.

 

 

 

And Quentin? Quentin told himself that he was not disappointed that Eliot was happy he was with someone else.

* * *

 

kudos and comments = love

I am lunaraindrop on Tumblr, and I loooove prompts and suggestions! Feel free to come visit me. :)


	2. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are having a quiet moment watching The Greatest Showman in the infirmary. Quentin has thoughts. Josh made snacks. There might be bunnies.
> 
> EDIT: I'm thinking of adding Margo/Josh/Fen. Yay? Nay? Please let me know in the comments!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started to write this chapter from Eliot's pov, but it seemed that Quentin had a few things to say. Actually, Quentin has changed somethings in the story, so hold onto your seats, folks!
> 
> Edit: I'm thinking of maybe adding Margo/Josh/Fen. Thoughts?

* * *

As Quentin looked over his friends from his perch, he could not help but smile. Even though six people were crowded around a laptop screen on a wheelie infirmary tray table, everyone was enjoying themselves. The atmosphere felt like one of those rare quiet nights in at the Physical Kids cottage. Back when things were a little bit simpler. When Eliot and Margo dragged him from whatever dark corner he was hiding into Eliot’s room to watch _Buffy_. Back when he somehow managed to convince them to watch _Doctor Who_ with him _._  (They had both been so shocked that “snack daddy bow-tie Doctor’s wife” River Song was really Melody Pond. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug.) They used to sit so much like this on Eliot’s plush satin bedspread. Margo and Eliot would overlap, completely comfortable cuddling and interlocking with each other. At the time Quentin was just thankful they would allow him into their secluded bubble. He would rub his fingers on the supple material that acted like a barrier between him and the pair. Quentin was an anxious little island in their cove, content to float in their paradise.

Now things were a little different. Margo and Eliot were still as close as ever, if not more (if that was even possible), but they had changed as well. While they obviously belonged to each other in the way that only true best friends and twin flames could, they also belonged in other places, to other people. Josh had taken the plastic chair on Margo’s side of the bed. For this occasion, he made batches of brown butter drizzled toffee almond popcorn and fudgy raspberry lime port-infused brownies. While one hand was absentmindedly feeding himself pieces of popcorn, the other held Margo’s hand, kissing each finger in precious worship. And Margo? Margo **let** him, to Quentin’s shock. While he couldn’t see her face very well where he was sitting, he did catch a glimpse when she leaned over and flicked his ear.

“Feed your king, Hoberman.” She said before she leaned back. Just before she settled back to Eliot’s side, Quentin saw a hint of a smile on her face.

Huh. Margo in love.

Yeah, that was still a scary thought. He was happy for them, though. Everyone deserved love.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man he was currently resting beside.

“Who knew Michelle Williams could sing like that?”

Julia piped up on his other side, in the chair he vacated five days ago.

“I’m actually a little more concerned with how Hugh Jackman keeps flinging her around on that rooftop. Who choreographed this?”

Penny 23 passed her a bowl from his seat next to her.

“It’s probably CGI and done of a soundstage.”

Eliot turned his head towards Julia and Penny 23, making his chin barely graze Quentin’s forehead. “That’s also obviously not Michelle and Hugh. Look at how they play up the shadows.”

Quentin knew there was some type of reply, but his focus zeroed in on the feel of Eliot’s breath gently stirring the hairs of his crown.

Quentin had been afraid. So so very afraid. Even knowing that Eliot was back and that he was safe, he had feared moments like this.

What if it wouldn’t be the same, after The Monster? What if he couldn’t stand to be near Eliot? What if his stupid brain tried to make something as miraculous as a touch or a hug or Eliot _breathing_ and _alive_ a trigger for panic attacks?

He had wanted to stay and make sure Eliot was okay.

He had wanted to run away to stop his anguish of seeing him in pain.

He had wanted to keep some space, just in case.

He had wanted to crawl inside of his chest and live underneath his skin.

That thought alone was too much, and a bit morbid. (Thank God he had a shield up around Penny 23.)

At least he knew now that being near El was not going to be an issue.

No, it was going to be a problem.

It didn’t matter that The Monster had used Eliot’s body to torment him. Quentin’s mind, body, and _soul_ knew the difference. That was clear to him now. It was a relief.

 No, he didn’t have an issue being close to Eliot. It was the direct opposite.

He wanted to make everyone else leave the room.

He wanted to heal this man.

He wanted to give everything to this man. Everything that he had, was, is, and could be, all his if he wanted it.

He wanted to lie back on this bed and have Eliot take and take and take anything, everything from him. He would give it freely.

He wanted to be taken by this man, to lose himself in his carnal, sweaty, all-consuming passion.

He wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss Eliot’s mouth, face, neck, collar bones, ears, eyelids-arms-legs-hands-thighs-cock-ass, every inch of his beautiful lanky body that he would allow.

He wanted Eliot to crave him and need him as much as he craved and needed him.

He couldn’t give his heart, because Eliot already owned that. Instead, he wanted Eliot to give his own in return.

And all that? All that is messed up. He was and is still a mess.

The mosaic timeline didn’t happen. They never had a family. Teddy didn’t exist. Their grandchildren didn’t exist. (Just thinking about them made him cry most nights.)

Quentin’s husband didn’t exist either.

Eliot was his friend. He was a best friend, and nothing more.

He was a maladjusted, supernerd version of Margo for Eliot.

And should be so lucky. A friendship like that? A connection like that? That was rare.

Quentin was no longer an island floating on satin. He was nestled in Eliot’s side, with his arms and legs carefully tangled to cradle the man into his body.

He really was grateful. Eliot was alive. They were all alive. They were eating snacks and watching _The Greatest Showman_ (which was his idea), and enjoying themselves.

Couldn’t that be enough?

Shouldn’t that be enough?

_Why isn’t it enough?!_

Quentin’s internal monologue was interrupted again. Julia hit him in the face with a kernel.

“Earth to Q! Your favorite part is coming up!”

Looking into her eyes though, he could see that Jules knew something was on his mind. She had been giving him similar looks for quite some time. Julia may be patient, but he knew he had to talk to her about it sometime.

He took a breath and put on a smile.

“Who doesn’t like Zefron singing?”

Eliot chuckled and tilted his chin up. Quentin could not stop the flip in his stomach at seeing those eyes alight with that smarmy delight.

_Oh fuck. Why does Eliot have to look so beautiful when he teases me?_

Their eyes locked as Eliot gently squeezed his cheeks.

“Oh Q. Poor, adorable, Disney hard-on Q. You are such a basic bitch.”

He rolled his eyes but felt a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re such a snobby brat, Eliot.”

Eliot ruffled his hair. He then cupped the back of his neck and guided his head under Eliot’s chin.

The smile dropped.

In all the world, this was Quintin's favorite place to be. 

By Eliot's side had become his new Fillory.

It would be okay.

It had to be okay.

This would be enough.

It had to be enough.

He still felt guilty that he was kinda using Alice to move on, but what else could he do? Alice wanted to try, and damn it, he was going to try. For the first time in a long time, he and Alice were on good terms. 

And she wanted him.

He still loved her...

He felt more than heard Eliot’s laugh vibrating through his throat and chest.

...just…not in the same way.

* * *

 

 Quentin was brooding again, judging by the increasingly non-smile he tried to give him and Julia.

Still, Eliot did get him to smile a real smile, which was his goal.

He would need to up his game though.

While Julia was almost completely healed, Eliot did not have the God or former God benefit. While he was expected to make a full recovery, the healers said it was going to take some time. Apparently being possessed by an entity with such power strained his body. Add in the magical ax wounds and that the Monster lived on Starbucks and Cheetos, and Eliot was not in the best shape. The spells and potions being used to help heal him needed to be administered at certain times. He was also in need of some physical therapy. This meant that he would need to stay in the Brakebills Infirmary for days, if not weeks.

This put a little damper in his plan of spoiling the fuck out of Q before confessing his undying love, but he could work with that.

At least he was informed that day that a specialist was coming in from London tomorrow. Perhaps they could move things along faster.

After all, he had less than a month to get his shit together and woo the fuck out of one Quentin Coldwater. He didn’t want to do all of that in the Brakebills infirmary. (He also didn’t want Quentin to choose him out of pity.)

Not that he couldn’t, though. If he had a little ambient lighting, some throw pillows, a bowl of fruit and some whipped cream, he could certainly work this in his favor.

* * *

 

Just as Zefron and Zendaya were flying through the air, a bunny dropped onto the floor.

“TROUBLE IN FILLORY!’

Everyone blinked.

Another bunny dropped, this time on Penny 23’s lap.

“I NEED MARGO!”

After that, a series of bunnies started to rain down on them.

 “LOOK UP HOW TO UNBANISH MARGO PLEASE!”

“SEND JOSH NOW!”

“ELIOT! I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“SPENDING HUGS!”

“BUNNIES DON’T SPEAK EMOJIS!”

“HASHTAG HELP ME!”

As the movie played in the background, all six of them looked at each other.

Margo got up and picked up the bunny that kept repeating “LOOK UP HOW TO UNBANISH MARGO PLEASE!”.

“Well shit.”

* * *

Comments and kudos = love!

 


	3. Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To quote Anya from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical (aka Margo's favorite episode) : "Bunnies aren't just cute//Like everybody supposes!//They got them hoppy legs//And twitchy little noses!//And what's with all the carrots?//What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?//Bunnies! bunnies! //It must be bunnies!!"
> 
> There is something up with these bunnies.
> 
> Fen maybe wants to know if they like cheese.
> 
> Quentin remembers something and makes some things clear.
> 
> Margo is a boss ass bitch.
> 
> And Eliot? Eliot gets a clue.
> 
> This episode was brought to you by: SPAM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...funny story. Gather around folks. 
> 
> So Quentin continues to run amuck and take over this story. We will be hearing Eliot's side soon, but this chapter wanted to be written in a certain way. That being said, you may have noticed the rating has gone up for M to E. That...is terrifying. I am a blushing mess, tbh. There is a little bit of smut in this chapter. You actually have to thank three people for this. 
> 
> 1.) Eliot  
> 2.) Quentin  
> 3.) Rizendace. Rizendace is the author of the lovely fic Lover's Touch (seriously, go read, it is awesome), and they were a little embarrassed at writing a sex scene. I am totally in that boat. I want to turn into a turtle and hide in my shell for going for it, but you know what? This is how authors grow in their writing, and I know some people out there might enjoy it. So, if Rizendace can be brave, then so can I. :)   
> (Now please excuse me while I go...over there...and blush to death)
> 
> About addressing Q's bisexuality. It is canon. However, sometimes important people miss an obvious thing. So, we are going to address an obvious thing, and maybe, just maybe, our boys will have a chance at happiness.
> 
> Oh! There is another relationship added to the tags. :)
> 
> I want to hear from you! Feel free to drop me a message on Tumblr: lunaraindrop, or comment here. I'm working on another story I will be posting soon, so keep an eye out ;)

* * *

 

Chaos erupted.

Everyone except Eliot was out of the bed and chairs. The movie that they had just been enjoy was forgotten in favor of the pandemonium the bunnies had ensued. There were too many of them to hear each individual message, so the room was filled with hoarse grunting.

After Margo picked up the one, five or six more of varying colors and levels of fluffiness dropped into existence in the same place the original one had dropped. All seemed to have a different message.

Quentin stared in bewilderment and ran his fingers wildly through his too short hair (fuck you Brian). With the influx of messenger bunnies showing up in such a short time, he couldn’t help but wonder and worry. Thousands of thoughts overwhelmed Quentin’s brain.

He had clearly heard one say that there was trouble in Fillory. What kind? Was Fen in danger?

_Did she rob a fucking warren?_

 

However, those thoughts did not get voiced. Instead, Quentin kept whispering to himself:

“Oh wow. This is a shit ton of rabbits”, with wide brown eyes.

 

If he had not seen them popping in, he would have sworn they were multiplying like, well-

“FUCKING BUNNIES!” Margo yelled as two darted from her grasp from under the tray table.

Taking in the situation, it did kind of reminded him of the doubling charm in Bellatrix LeStrange’s vault in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ , or cutting off the head of the Hydra in Greek mythology.

Touch one talking rabbit, more would take its place.

He brought his hands up and out at chest level, and shuffled his feet away from the four that were munching on the popcorn from the forgotten bowl on the floor. Scooting as close as possible to the head of the bed, Quentin wedged himself between the bedrail and the medical supply drawers. He was not sure if multiplying messenger rabbits was actually their situation, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Hey guys!”

Everyone looked up at him from their various states of standing, crouching, or bed lying.

 “Maybe, umm… maybe we shouldn’t touch the bunnies?”

It came out as more of a question than a suggestion, but he couldn’t help it. There looked to be at least twenty bunnies hopping around the room, with more popping in by the minute.

Julia stood back up from behind her chair, leaving the cute tawny and white floppy eared bunny she had tried to pick up.

“What are you thinking, Q?”

One of the bunnies’ voices filtered through the others loud enough for everyone to hear, “SEND JOSH NOW!”

Shooting another bewildered glance towards the rabbit, he turned to look at his friend.

“I think we’re dealing with Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.”

Her brow furrowed.

“You think…the bunnies are horcruxes?”

Before he could say anything, Margo piped up.

“Oh shit, like with the vault and multiplying treasure when they touched something?”

He pointed to her and nodded, happy that someone understood him. “Yes! Exactly like that! Thank you!”

Instead of looking alarmed (as she should have because here was a bunny currently on her foot saying something about a clock), Margo rolled her eyes. “Shit, I’m speaking nerd again.”

She shook off the furball that was resting on her red bottoms, and grabbed her boyfriend by the shirt.

“Josh, I am going to need you and your dick in the nearest coat closet when this is cleared up. Mama needs to get laid.”

This didn’t seem to bother Josh at all. In fact, he looked quite eager at her demand.

“Me and _all_ my appendages are at your service.”

Bunnies forgotten for a moment, Quentin could not help but be a little offended. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with having Harry Potter knowledge.”

Eliot pat his forearm. “Of course not. Don’t feel bad. Margo speaking in literary references is just her brain telling her she has needs that have to be satisfied.”

“Damn straight.” She said with a smile. Turning away from the very eager Josh and back towards Quentin, Margo shrugged. “Sexy bitch is my department, not super nerd. That’s your place, Q.”

For just a second his shoulders curled inwards and he crossed his arms over his chest. He could feel his insecurity pulling him inwards, making him feel smaller. Then something flashed bright and hot across his mind.

* * *

 

_Eliot plucked the Filliorian folklore tome out of his hands and started to kiss him senseless. Every other drugging kiss was laced with words like, “God, how are you this hot?” and “Damn it Q, how am I supposed to get anything done when you look so excited talking about scholarly mummering pufferfish?”_

_He finally pressed Quentin back onto their quilt on their pallet bed. He tried to chase his mouth, but Eliot playfully leaned just out of reach. He was using his forearms to brace himself above, and Quentin could not help looking up in wide-eyed reverence at the beautiful man bathed in moonlight. One lone curl tickled his cheekbone as Eliot kissed his forehead._

_“Eliot, Eliot, come back please-“_

_“Shh…” He whispered with smiling lips into his skin. He settled closer into the cradle of Quentin’s thighs, and kissed his way from his temple to his ear. With huffing laugh he whispered into his ear, "Talk nerdy to me, you adorably fuckable man.”_

* * *

 

_  
_ The words were mumbled out of Quentin’s mouth before he could think to hold them back. “Nerdy can be sexy.”

Margo turned to him with a gleam in her eye.

“What was that?”

 

* * *

 

  _Quentin babbled broken sentences about questing beasts and mummering pufferfish as he slid his fingers into the other man’s soft curls. Eliot had a thing about blowing and fingering him while he was telling him something from his favorite books and movies. (Which Quentin found out that he really, really loved being finger fucked. Don’t get him wrong, Eliot was amazing at everything when it came to sex, but this particular activity was something Eliot introduced him to.)_

_While Quentin did like both women and men, he never really experimented with playing with his ass. It was honestly awkward. Like, why was he putting a finger up there? It didn’t really feel particularly sexy. So many people seemed to like it, yet he was disappointed that he couldn’t seem to get his hands to make it pleasurable for him. The one time he used a vibrator he jizzed himself so fast that he fell off the bed and broke his wrist. He had to call Julia to take him to the E.R. because there was no way in hell he was going to explain how that happened to his dad. So if he was with a guy, it mainly stuck to handjobs and blowjobs. For fear and mortification, his ass was left alone, and was completely a virgin hole._

_Of course, Eliot Waugh and his large, nimble, and capable fingers changed all of that. Those incredible hands were seriously almost a tie with his lovely, thick cock. Almost._

_And he tried so so so hard to_ _keep talking, knowing Eliot liked to hear what good of a job he was doing at taking him apart. Every gasp and moan were victories to the man by the way he doubled down in taking Quentin to ecstasy. When he gave one particularly pathetic mewl and tried to hide it behind his bit lip, Eliot pulled off with a soft pop, and kissed his lip free. "I've got you, my nerdy baby. You don’t ever have to hide from me.”_

_He was so fucking sincere, yet so mild-numbingly erotic.  How was Quentin to survive the sex god that was Eliot Waugh?_

* * *

 

He uncrossed his arms and held his chin up. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but now that it was out there, he was going to own it (even if it made him blush).

“I said that nerdy can be sexy.”

Margo cocked her hip and raised a sassy eyebrow, smirking her painted red lips. “Oh really?”

 

* * *

 

 

  _"There’s-there’s a theory- Oh God- tha-that mummering pufferfish of t-th-theee-ELIOT-Ohh-the p-puffer-Ah-umm-the thing that they dooo-Oh God, I love your tongue, please never stop doing that…Please please please Eliot…ELIOT-Oh God…sooo good…”_

* * *

 

He could feel the hot flush reaching slowly to the tips of his ears.

“Yes, Margo, it can be.”

She walked to be across the bed from Quentin. Leaning forward, her smirk grew wider.

“Did somebody tell _you_ that?”

“Yes, a-actually.”

Her smile grew, teeth pearly and sharp like a shark.

“How did she tell you? Come on Q, share with Auntie Margo. Was it over books? Did she beg you to fuck her while you recited obscure knowledge of _Fillory and Further_?”

Quentin had no idea why Margo was pressing him like this, (especially over Eliot’s prone body surrounded by an increasing influx of rabbits), but it was obvious she thought she had the upper hand. It was like she expected him to say something like, “Well no, just one time a barista said my Gryffindor tie was sexy” and leave it at that. She also assumed something _else,_ which he didn’t know if he should laugh or be offended. He knew what he was about to say might cost him some embarrassment and heartache, but damn it, he was tired of keeping it all inside. Also, he had the most perfect, honest answer, and he just loved the idea of seeing her (and maybe _someone_ else’s) face after he said it.

“Ah, well, funny story. Yes and no.”

He carefully did not look in Eliot’s direction as he continued.

“It wasn’t just over one thing. It was many things and many times.”

At this point he sent a sad yet self-satisfied smirk to his cutthroat female friend.

“And _he_ wanted to fuck _me. He_ wanted to fuck _me_ long and slow- a-and _hard_ and _tender_ because I am such a fucking nerd.”

Margo’s jaw dropped the moment he said, “ _fuck_ me”. It even seemed like the bunnies hushed at his revelation. Despite his raging blush, he couldn’t help but give a wistful smile.

“To tell you the truth, _I_ was the one that always ended up begging. It was the best sex of my life and-”

“WHOA!”

It seemed like Penny had enough of Quentin’s story time.

“TMI, dude! I do not need to hear about your kinky nerd shit.”

“But I want to hear his kinky nerd shit!” The shock seemed to wear off on Margo, and if he didn’t know better, she looked like she was kinda proud of him?

“Color me impressed, Q.”

_Huh. I guess I was right about that._

She leaned her elbow on the rail with delight, and looked at Quentin with what seemed like new eyes. (Well, not newer than the fairy eye, of course)

“Why have we never talked about this? We could have had so much fun talking about men’s asses in clubs!”

He was starting to squirm. It wasn’t a secret that he liked guys…right? Plus, “the club” was never really his scene.

Thankfully Julia stepped in with her natural efficient way.

“Oh, he wouldn’t talk about jean. Jeans completely go over his head. _Star Wars_ is a different story. You know your best friend is Bi when he can’t stop talking about how fuckable Han Solo is in his vests.”

Quentin twisted towards Julia, and got swept up in their old childhood argument before he could think about what he was saying.

“Jules, come on. It’s Han Solo. You know sarcastic men in vests are a weakness. You used to think so too!”

“No, I thought Han Solo was _cool_. _I_ did not get drunk at a movie marathon when I was seventeen and scream, ‘FUCK ME YOU SCRUFFY VEST-WEARING NERF HERDER!’ while wearing donuts on my ears. That was you.”

It was then that Quentin realized his mistake. Not only did he just talk about the sex he and Eliot used to have, (but not have, because it was in the Mosaic timeline) right in front of Eliot, but he just confessed to having a thing for men in vests.

He was supposed to be getting over Eliot. Not showing him what a pathetic pining loser he was.

He finally got the courage to look him in the eye. The expression on Eliot’s face was not what he expected. At all.

His hypnotic hazel eyes were dilated.

Now Quentin could excuse and overthink that because, come on, he was talking about them having sex. That’s naturally a turn on, even when you don’t have feeling for someone anymore.

It was harder to excuse the fucking _awe_ shining from his face.

“You… like…men in vests?” Eliot said so faintly that he might have missed it if he was not smashed up at the head of the bed. The way he was looking at Quentin, he realized Eliot was asking so much more.

 

Didn’t he know?

Didn’t Eliot know what he felt for him?

Didn’t he know that he would have burned the world to the ground for him?

That he yearned and ached for him?

That he was trying so hard to not be a shitty best friend?

Didn’t he know?

 

He shot his eyes to Margo.

 

Fucking _Margo_ apparently didn’t get the memo that he was Bi. He might have spent fifty years with the man he loved, but those two share a brain.

Margo raised an eyebrow at him.

And that’s when he got it.

_That_ was why she had pressed him so hard about it. She was protecting her _best friend_ by interrogating the other. Because _Eliot_ thinks nerdy is sexy…

…and he was their nerd.

Margo _knew_ something.

He was not sure what she knew, but he did know that he needed to talk to her, because he was starting to suspect that maybe Eliot was being shitty at being best friends too.

But Margo was telling him he needed to lay all his cards on the table. Because sometimes even obvious things were lost to former high kings.

Dumbfounded, Quentin nodded. Then shook his head.

“No. No-I-I _love_ men in vests.”

He felt his lip wobble as he looked into Eliot’s eyes.  And just like that, Eliot’s face was a morning sunrise in Fillory.

“Oh.”

Of course that was the moment a bunny hopped on his foot.

“Shit!”

Everyone flinched at his outburst.

He just maybe kinda-sorta professed his love to his bedbound injured friend that had been possessed by a monster for months, and totally forgot the hundred freaking bunnies that were infesting the room.

“There’s-umm-there’s a rabbit on my foot.”

“Q, do you really think that touching the bunnies makes them multiply?” Julia was currently raiding the medial supply drawers for purple nitrile gloves. She passed everyone a pair.

“Yeah, that seems to be what happens when we touch them.”

“These may help then. It might be a spell or a curse that requires skin contact.”

She put on her gloves and gently lifted the nearest bunny.

No new bunnies dropped in.

“Well, that solves that mystery.”

That bunny was one of the originals that kept repeating “SPENDING HUGS!”

Penny 23 stepped closer to Julia to hear it better. “ ‘Spending hugs?’ That doesn’t make sense. Can messenger bunnies have typos?”

Josh picked up one of the newer ones, a fat chocolate brown one.

Eliot, who seemed to gain his composer, got into action mode.

“What does that one say? We need to find out if Fen is in danger.”

With a bit of a struggle, he brought it close enough to his ear to make out words.

“DO YOU LIKE CHEESE?”

He pulled his head back and stared at the rabbit.

“ ‘Do you like cheese?’ Of course I like cheese, but why would Fen want to know that?”

“Fen wants to know if we like cheese?”

Quentin looked over at Eliot. Even injured in an infirmary, Eliot looked regal. For the life of him, Quentin was not sure how a man in a hospital gown could look so mind-numbingly sexy that he lost his breath. He felt his heart quicken. In the midst of pandemonium, Eliot was the eye of the storm. All Quentin wanted to do at that moment was forget about everything outside of Eliot Waugh. He wanted to crawl up the end of his bed, and worship his personal deity at his feet.

Instead, he continued to stand at the head of the bed, nervously playing with the gloves he needed to put on. They were honestly helping him focus on their at-hand crisis. Literally.

An idea came to his head.

“Do you think she’s supposed to throw some kind of diplomatic dinner?”

Eliot nodded.

“Maybe. There might be a problem, and she has never thrown a diplomatic dinner. I could see the need for sending reinforcements. Margo, do you think it could be The Floaters? Loria?”

Margo, holding another bunny that said, “NEED CARROT WINE, NOW” walked back up to Eliot’s bedside.

“It’s actually Loria and West Loria now, sweetie. There was a civil war between King Idri and his sister Ru.”

Eliot’s eyes bulged out.

“Margo, I missed a fucking civil war?!”

She looked a little apologetic as she pat his shoulder.

“I know honey, I missed out on it too.”

Eliot seriously looked distressed.

“How many opportunities in life do you get the chance to dress like Rhett Butler and have it be relevant?”

Margo pouted.

“I know. I would have loved to have partied in a green curtain mini dress.”

“Think of the missed party opportunities.”

Coming up to her side, Josh slid his arm around Margo’s waste. “So…she may need me to help make a menu?”

“I don’t think so.” Called Penny 23 from the far corner of the room. “This one is talking about foot fungus.”

“Wait.”

Quentin blinked.

“Are these…do we have spam bunnies? Is that a thing?”

Julia’s eyes widened.

“Oh God, I think we do. We have cursed spam bunnies.”

Eliot looked on in horror. “Anya was right.”

Margo had a similar look on her face. “Bunnies, bunnies, it must be fucking bunnies.”

And it was that moment that a new one popped into existence.

Right above Eliot’s wound.

On reflex, Quentin caught the bunny mere inches from Eliot’s chest.

At that moment, the occupants in the room were aware of three things:

1.) The bunnies were still coming in, despite nobody touching them.

2.) If that rabbit had landed on Eliot’s wound, it could have seriously hurt him, if not killed him.

3.) Quentin was not wearing gloves.

“SHIT!”

* * *

Kudos and comment = love :)

 


	4. Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin tries to be a hero, but gets squished.  
> Margo is worried about Fen.  
> Josh thinks he needs to make cake.  
> Julia gets hit on the side of the head by a flying rabbit.  
> Penny is sent for help.  
> And Eliot? Oh, you know. Had a fucking shitty childhood, almost died by rabbit, and starts confessing his undying love to an unavailable nerd.
> 
> Also, who is this older man hanging out with Todd?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> This chapter contains a brief verbal child abuse via parent scene and talks mildly about animals being raised as food or being made into clothing. No animals were hurt in the making of this story.
> 
> Honestly, I have been working on this chapter for weeks, and I realized it was getting too long. I had to decide where to cut it.
> 
> When you get to that point in the chapter, I would highly suggest looking up Dr. James Wilson on House MD. Why? Because he's pretty. :)  
> *whistles*  
> Sorry, no smut in this chapter. It is coming later. ;)  
>  
> 
> As always, kudos and comments = love, and I would love to see you come by my Tumblr lunaraindrop. Drop me a line. I love prompts, comments, and just talking about our boys! I hope you like it!

 

* * *

When Eliot first saw the Fairy Queen use messenger bunnies, he didn’t think anything inhumane was going on. (At the time he really didn’t care either way. He just needed to make contact with his friends on Earth.) While the bunnies showed up at random, they just seemed to step into existence out of thin air.

The bunny that Q caught did **not** step into existence. This one fell from a great height, somewhere between the ceiling and Penny23’s forehead. As he had learned from his one too many lessons from the dreaded 4H club of his youth, he knew the average rabbit was an easy five to eight pounds.

This was not an average looking rabbit.

If his quick assessment was correct, the bunny in Q’s hands looked like a French Lop. Eliot knew that particular breed pretty well.  When you are forced to raise something at the young and impressionable age of nine, only to know that your worth as a man would be judged based on how large and heathy your animal was compared to others, it was a better idea to pick something…smaller. Ah, yes. Just thinking about it brought back such fond memories of his father.

_(“God damn it, boy! Just pick an animal! No son of mine is going to be lazy or chicken out of a competition because he feels **sorry** for raising an animal for slaughter. This is farm life. Pick a damn animal now, or I **will** take you deer hunting, fuck what your mother says and your favorite pussy Disney movie.”)_

A French Lop sounded so much more elegant than the other rabbit breeds. Why have something as boring sounding as a Jersey Wooly when you could have something French? French Lops were also hardier than some of the other breeds. The average French Lop weighed between eleven to fifteen pounds. Naturally, his rabbit (Swayze) won a first-place ribbon. That motherfucker was eighteen and a half pounds of pure gray fluff. He was sold the same day as the competition. His father was so proud of him. Eliot heard Swayze made a lovely stew for a local pastor.

That was the first and last time he did that completion.

This bunny was white with black spots, and looks as heavy, if not more than his former sacrificial animal.

He was not a math genius, but he was in the gifted program growing up. With the velocity and speed the (probably) spam bunny was hurdling towards his stomach, the impact would feel more like a bowling ball. If he had been healthier, if not caught, the bunny would have bounced off his body and possibly would have left a nasty bruise.

He wasn’t healthy, though.

While necessary to save his life, Margo really did a number on his already weakened body with the Sorrow ice axes. Even with magic back and unregulated, the wound was taking a slow time to heal. He was assured that there was no quick fix for a magical wound like his, and that he just needed time and rest to let it heal.

Clearly the healers did not predict assassin bunnies.

If that rabbit had landed, there is a very good chance he would be bleeding out right now.

And all that was keeping him from death’s door were Quentin’s bewitching, manly, sturdy… yet regretfully ungloved hands.

Eliot and Quentin’s gazes adamantly locked. As hazel met that lovable, warm, rich brown, Eliot marveled at the connection that he could feel down into his bones. (And Margo was to NEVER hear him say anything that fucking shmaltzy.)  

There were only two people he was so connected with that he could have total complete conversations with just a glace. Ironically, both such had beautiful brown eyes. Q’s sad puppy dog eyes were whitely wide with panic. His mouth opened as if to exhale some of his horror, but it seemed to stick and choke in his throat. Without any words spoken he knew what Quentin was saying to him. “ _Oh God, Eliot-you’re in danger! I’m so stupid, I just reacted and grabbed it!”_

Eliot was too panicked himself to reassure him.

“FLOATING CROWNS! CAN’T REACH!” the deadly creature grunted.

It was like the bunny broke Q from the impending anxiety attack and set him into action. For Eliot, it was like watching a scene in slow motion. Quentin had briefly looked up towards the ceiling before he underhand tossed the rabbit in a high arch to Josh. As soon as the General Woundwort wannabe cleared his hands, he hoisted himself over the bedrail. Q scrambled himself into a protective position over Eliot’s body, bracing his trembling arms besides his shoulders, and knees by his outer thighs. Desperate gasps of air fanned out across Eliot’s face as he saw Quentin screw his eyes shut. To Eliot’s horror, he realized that the stupid, brave man he loved was planning to take the brunt of the bunny fallout. Quentin Coldwater threw himself at Eliot’s body like skinny-ass Steve Rodgers on a grenade. (Yes, he knew sex with him was hot and explosive, but this really was not the time for analogies.) Before he could shove him away, he saw the cascade of rabbits falling from the invisible hole. While a bunch of bunnies would not kill Quentin like they probably would him, he still did not like the idea of him getting hurt. If the horde was anything like the other one, he would certainly get banged up.

Despite not being able to use magic for such a long time, using his telekinesis was as easy as breathing. He bumped the first two bunnies into Penny23’s chest and the side of Julia’s head, knocking her off her feet. He didn’t have the time to get the others.

 At the very last second Eliot reached up and wrapped one arm around the younger man’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. He pulled him into a crushing hug before turning them both to Margo’s vacated side. He knew he wasn’t careful enough, that Q was smashed hard between the bedrail and Eliot’s own body. He could feel that cute, pert nose pressed into his carotid artery, and a trapped hand twitching against his ribs.

This was not typically how they fit together.

If he could, he would shift and curl his body around the man, like they used to, like he never thought they could again.

They fit.

They fucking _fit_.

They were bespoke.

And Quentin _loved_ men in vests, (and apparently men, and hope to God he read that right and that meant he still loved _him_ and that he still had a chance ) and he’d be damned if he let some beefy bastard bunnies bruise  Q’s precious kidneys before he got to parade around in a dark vest and gun holster to give his super nerd a visual orgasm.

Even though it felt like slow motion to him, he knew that all of that had happened in a matter of seconds. He was also aware that Q had been shocked immobile but was beginning to come back online. Trying and failing to move his head a few millimeters from Eliot’s neck, Quentin seemed to give up and mumbled directly into Eliot’s skin.

“Holy shit. What just…? El?”

Eliot felt him freeze in his arms.

“Shit! Are you alright?! You can’t move around like that! Is your wound okay?”

Without any shame or hesitation, Quentin pushed his hand up Eliot’s gown. Callused fingers slipped past maroon silk boxers directly to the bandaged area of his torso. Those fingers blindly inspected the surrounding flesh and gauze for possible tearing or blood.

When Eliot pictured Quentin going for second (or third…?) base in bed again, this was not what he had in mind. Perfectly crafted cocktails, and a thorough making out session with very heavy petting were closer to what he imaged. (He also figured he would have rolled his little high-strung king under him and seduced him with drugging kisses and achingly slow grinding. Being squished beside him in a paper medical gown after being possessed was…not anything he thought to plan for.) He knew that Q was purely working on a non-sexual autopilot. If he wasn’t so worried that Eliot might have hurt himself, he would never attempt to get under someone’s clothes without consent. Consent was very important to the man.

He understood, though. When you spend a lifetime of domesticity and intimacy with a person, boundaries tend to blur. You see that person at their best and worst.

You see them be ethereally handsome with their man bun done up with little pink peach blossoms, blazing warmth in their gaze that rivaled the ceremonial bonfire lit for your wedding.

You see them struggle with the dark days of depression, when it exhausts them to even get out of bed.

 Clothing becomes optional at home. Bathing becomes a two-person luxury. Illness and grief are shouldered together. These are the things that happen when you have a partner in life.

Their skin becomes your skin. Their soul becomes your soul. Their heart becomes your heart.

To Quentin, it would seem like the most natural thing in the world to get past the pesky layers and to assess himself on any damage Eliot might have.

And that? That made Eliot’s heart sore, because Quentin was not treating Eliot like his best friend. He was treating him like he was his goddamn _husband_ again. (and he would cut a bitch if anyone tried to stop Q’s questing fingers.)

His raw bliss was cut short by Quentin’s mounting panic. “El? El! Are you-I can’t feel anything off. Nothing’s wet. Are you hurting?! D-do you think your wound opened back up? Shit, say something! Oh Go- “

Eliot cut him off by taking his hand in his own, and sliding their joined hands up his torso, past his nipple and onto his pec. With what little strength he had, he firmly pressed Q’s palm over his heart. Quentin was instantly quiet. He was hesitant for just a second, before he timidly started to rub his thumb soothingly back and forth over the hair on Eliot’s chest.

This was it. No time for wining and dining. No time for tailored clothes and perfectly timed confessionals. No time even for Quentin to be unattached to Alice. If there was any time to be brave, why not pinned against the man he loved, surrounded by their best friends and murder spam bunnies with his ass hanging out?

He was Eliot Waugh. Prince of Brakebills and Champagne King. He could make this work.

He whispered into Q’s hair.

“I’m about to sound cheesy as fuck, but you just tried to save my life from the cast of _Watership Down_ by using yourself as a human shield. I think I get a pass.”

He could hear Julia lightly telling Penny to go and get help and heard Margo brusquely ordering Josh and Julia in rabbit removal. “Shit, help me move those shithole bunnies so Eliot can lie back down before I go Cruella on their fluffy asses!”

Oh, how he loved his Bambi. She would look magnificent in a rabbit fur cloak.

Even though they were close, he could almost feel their eyes turned in every direction away from them. They were giving he and Q this moment, and he was not going to waste it.

He nuzzled the top of Q’s head, smelling the most perfect sent that no bottle could ever hold. Dior could never even think to compare. He angled his chin down far enough to reach the very top of the younger man’s forehead. Pouring every ounce of love, pain, and _hope_ he could into his lips, he pressed an ardent, yet achingly tender kiss to Quentin’s skin while pushing down on his hand.

“Q- _Baby_ … this is the only thing that really hurts. It’s my fault, I know. I broke it myself.”

Quentin’s breathing slowed from the ramping staccato. His fingers curled over Eliot’s heart like he was holding onto something precious, something glass, like he was more afraid of damaging the shards further instead of getting cut himself.  Eliot knew he had his complete attention.

* * *

 

 “TRY PICKWICK’S GOULASH TODAY!”

“SEND UPDATE ON ELIOT’S HEALTH-“

“HAVING A DISPUTE WITH A DISGRUNTLED SLOTH?”

Margo was getting really tired of these furballs. She would have drop-kicked the motherfucker that almost landed on El, but it didn’t sound like an annoying advertisement.

_“FLOATING CROWNS! CAN’T REACH!”_ _Fen, honey, what have you gotten yourself into?_

Margo knew her soft-hearted Disney Princess friend could hold her own in a fight. They all did. Girl could wield a knife like nobody’s business, and it was kinda hot. This was why Josh felt it was okay enough to stay earthside for a few days. With Margo’s banishment still intact, it wasn’t like she could go to Fillory anytime soon. She planned to go to The Library (under new management) for possible answers when Eliot was stable. Q and Julia both said they would help with research, but both had been occupied the past couple of days.

Julia, while completely recovered now, had needed the first couple of days to get back on her feet. Penny23 was all up in her business, so she was taken care of.

Q was very similar when it came to Eliot. Unlike 23 though, Q was never far from Eliot’s side. 23 seemed mentally healthy enough to leave and run errands.

She was one to talk, though. She was woman enough to admit that she was not okay. What did people expect? She just got Eliot back from that murderous fucking parasite, but only after fucking _stabbing_ him. Margo would do it again in a heartbeat, but she knew she would have nightmares about the blood on her hands for a long time. The only reason she was not in a straight jacket right now was because she had held onto her best friend and had not let go.

So, she and Q were hopeless caregivers. Oh sure, Q did a good job, but he was running himself ragged before Eliot made him come to bed. They could not have that. She and Eliot needed their favorite maladjusted nerd healthy. She was on the opposite spectrum from Q. She had her health, but she could not make herself let go long enough to be useful. They were traumatized and in need of some TLC. While Penny23 did them a couple of favors, she really did not want Julia’s…whatever he was, to pamper the three of them. That would just be weird.

Luckily, she had someone in mind for the job. Josh was funny, cute, and he could bake. (And okay, maybe she missed seeing his adorable face. What? She was in love with the idiot. Sue her.)

So Penny23 popped over and retrieved him, and take care of them he did. Besides feeding them, he also brought Eliot some of his clothes and grooming products (which he had yet to use). He also brought decent food and bottled sparkling water. The sparkling water made El happy. He was so tired of drinking the “swill” that was lukewarm tap water the infirmary had. It was actually a fun pastime watching Q fetch cup after cup like an overeager puppy wanting to please his master. It was also pretty nice to see Eliot looking so content. (Josh had whispered to her just last night, “Uhh, okay. Margo, are they fucking? Because the last I knew Q was dating Alice, and they were best friends. That does not look like best friends. Why do I feel like I need to be asking them what type of wedding cake they want?” She just smiled and pat his arm. “It’s okay Hoberman. I don’t know what happened between them, but I have never seen El so happy. Q is still currently dating Alice, but I’m working on that. Just don’t say anything. I’m afraid the dickholes will try to act all moral if we point it out.” Josh just shrugged and told her to tell him how to help when she had a plan in mind. She knew she loved him for a reason.) It was nice for her to have the people she cared about the most under one roof.

_Almost all of them anyway._

Margo frowned.

_Fen had said that everything was fine, damn it._

This? This did not seem _fine_. She kept shooting looks towards Josh. She could see that he was rattled with every new rabbit.

Something was going on in Fillory, and neither of them were there for Fen.

What was going on with the crowns?

As soon as she knew Eliot did not hurt himself with his little stunt, and they took care of these fucking bunnies, they needed to make a plan to get someone to check up on Fen and Fillory.

Speaking of Eliot, she and Julia caught a couple whispered words while Josh dived for the laptop some of the rabbits knocked over.

 

_“Q-Baby… this-“_

 

Her eyes widened.  _Oh shit! He called Quentin “Baby.” Baby?! Get it El!_

 

Instead of cheering her best friend on, she placed her hands on her hips and turned away from the spectacle.

“We really need to figure out how to shut these rabbits up so we can find out if any have any actual messages.”

 

Julia glanced towards Margo as she removed a bunny near Eliot’s feet.

_Ah, Julia heard that too. Good, I need witnesses in case the idiots try to deny this happened._

With a decisive nod, both women looked away and whistled. Nothing to see here. Nope.

It was also silently acknowledged that they would be grilling their boys for info later.

Josh stood up and shot the bed-bound men a look before nonchalantly pretending to not hear what was being said. He stepped over some bunnies to come to the two women.

“Hey Margo, I may know a spell to send these bunny bastards somewhere else.”

She shrugged at her boyfriend.

“Worth a shot.”

With a few chanted words in Sumerian and some complicated finger movements, Josh’s spell worked.

Well, sort of.

The room was clear…er. However, there were still spam bunnies left, and they looked…different.

“Great, Josh. Half of them are gone, and the rest are green! Are they weed rabbits, now?”

Next to Margo, Julia blinked in perplexity at Josh.

“Where did you send them?”

“The Cottage, I think?”

* * *

 

 -At the Cottage-

 

“-and this is where I stay, Grandpa!”

Todd opened the front door for the man. Anyone that might have looked at them both would probably not have guessed the other, older man was his grandfather. While the Dr.-James-Wilson-from- _House-MD_ -look-alike-dressed-in-a-green-cardigan-and-tailored-trousers was going gray at the temples and had crinkles of what looked like many smiles at the edges of his eyes, the man didn’t look a day over forty-five. If anything, the man looked like he could have been Todd’s dad.

The man stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around. “So, this is the Physical Kids Cottage, eh? I have always wondered what it looked like.”

Before Todd could say anything else, a bunch of bunnies appeared out of thin air.

Some students on the couch screamed.

So did Todd.

With a curious look on his face, the older man leaned over to hear what one of the rabbits was grunting.

“FLOATING CROWNS! CAN’T REACH!”

He straightened up with a bewildered look on his face.

“Oh my. Has it started already? Wow, that was a bit fast.” He sighed, shook his head, but gave a tiny, private smile. He pulled a pair a buttery soft leather gloves out of one pocket, and another pair of lavender gardening gloves from the other. He handed his shocked grandson the gardening gloves while putting the leather ones on.

 “Okay Junior, let’s take care of these rabbits!”

Todd blinked, and scrabbled to slip the gloves on.

Looking around, the man noticed all of the young folks not moving.

_The poor things obviously needed some direction._

He clapped his hands good-naturedly, like a kindergarten teacher during clean-up time.

“Well don’t just sit there, children! Go find some gloves and help us out! We need to move these creatures to an unused room, and fast!”

Todd sheepishly sidled up to his grandfather, holding a rabbit that screeched “A NEW CLOCK TREE HAS BROKEN THE HISTORICAL MOSIAC!”

“Grandpa, we could, well…he might be mad, but we could maybe move them to Quentin’s room?”

The older man’s eyes twinkled in delight.

“Oh, that is perfect Junior! Yes, everyone move the rabbits to Quentin Coldwater’s room, and whatever you do, do not touch them unless you are wearing gloves!”

As everyone grabbed a rabbit or two and made their way to the stairs, the man called out to his grandson again.

“Hey Junior, got any carrots in that kitchen of yours?”

* * *

 

Kudos and comments= love


	5. Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot confesses  
> A memory of two goofy fathers teach their son a lesson about love  
> Josh...may have heard part of the confession wrong  
> Margo and Julia get a shock  
> Penny23 needs to share his wisdom with the class  
> And Q? He will always be Eliot's Baby, even when he's an overprotective statue.
> 
> *teenie tiny bit of smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is yet another fragment of what turned out to be the loooongest chapter ever. I decided to end this one here because the next one bring Quentin's POV back. Trust me, it is better this way. I am also working on 3, that's right *3* other fics, purely for your joy and entertainment. :)
> 
> So, any theories on what is going on with these wascally wabbits or Fillory? Anyone worried about Fen? I would love to hear from you! Anyone planning to kill me for how this chapter ended? (I hope not. I love you all!)
> 
> Drop me a line in the comments, or come visit me on Tumblr: lunadraindrop
> 
> Comments & Kudos = Love

* * *

 

Eliot took a deep breath and waited for what Quentin had to say. He needed to let him speak before he continued. After that, he would tell him that he needed him to be quiet. As much as he loved hearing his voice, he knew he would lose his nerve if he didn’t just dump it all out at once. If he was going to do this, then his promise to himself was going to be his goddamn love anthem to Quentin Coldwater. It was what he deserved.

So he waited, and Q did not disappoint.

“Y-you…did you just call me _Baby_?”

He didn't disappoint, but he missed the entire point. Of course.

_Oh Q._

Eliot huffed in fondness. Once upon a time the younger man would tease Eliot about his chosen term of endearment.

* * *

 

  _It was an enchanting sight. Quentin, unassuming and lost in focused though, haloed by the burnished gold light filtering through the trees._

_It baffled him sometimes that Q did not know just how beautiful he was. There he sat, taking Eliot’s very breath out of his lungs as he meticulously sorted the green tiles for his- admittedly- mediocre peace lily design._

_He didn’t remember climbing down the ladder or walking over. There was just something that always drew him to Quentin, like he was lost in his adorable, nerdy orbit._

_He pulled the other man to his feet and held him in his arms. Bemused but looking pleasantly surprised, Q willingly followed Eliot’s lead. Careful of the tiles by their feet, Eliot swayed them in a slow dance as ancient and reminiscent as the trees surrounding them. Brown eyes and the upturned face looked into hazel expectedly._

_Eliot indulged him._

_“Baby, as handsome as you look sitting in this corner, you looked far too lonely. I would be remiss if I didn’t scoop you up and give you an excuse to squeeze my butt.”_

_Quentin is a brat, though. While he gave a deep belly laugh and did, indeed, give Eliot’s bum a good squeeze, he also swatted at it in the middle of one of their gentle turns._

_“Did you seriously just ‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner’ me, El? Really? For the last time, my last name is **Coldwater-Waugh** and not Housemen.”_

_Eliot shrugged but teasingly smirked back. “Complete coincidence, I assure you.”_

_“Uh-huh. Right.”_

_They both leaned into a slow, sweet kiss._

_In the earlier years of their quest, this would have been the point where Eliot would have gone in for a mind-numbing kiss which would bleed into a spectacular make-out session against one on the nearby trees. This would lead to him leisurely working his hand into Q’s pants. He would have then massaged and caressed his cock until his love was a shuddering mess, begging to be fucked._

_Growing with age and sharing a life with someone changes things sometimes._

_While they still had sex, (oh so spectacular, hungry, loving, life-affirming **fucking** if he did say so himself), they had to be a little bit more careful of a possible audience._

_“Oh gross! Again? It is the middle of the day! A kid should not have to see his parents making out.”_

_Their kiss was broken with a huff of a laugh._

_“Did you hear that, El? We’re gross.”_

_Eliot shook his head, all the while sharing a mischievous smile with his husband._

_“The day has come. Q, when did we become the embarrassing parents?”_

_Quentin, practically glowing with impish delight, just shrugged._

_“We have a pre-teen. I think it just comes with the territory.”_

_Both men turned toward their son. He was lightly covered in dirt from presumably their pumpkin patch behind the cottage and leaning on his shovel in a dramatic slump with a raised eyebrow. It was clear that Quentin’s pint sized mini-me was judging them very hard._

_This gave Eliot an idea._

_They were already gross, after all._

When in Rome, as they say.

_“Baby, should we educate our misguided son?”_

_“Oh El, I think it is a must. We would be bad parents if we did not educate the poor thing.”_

_They were on the same page. Then again, when were they not?_

_Eliot turned towards Teddy._

_“Ted, did I hear you right? Did you just accuse your father and I of ‘making out’?”_

_Teddy rolled his eyes, not noticing Eliot subtly shifting his arms around Quentin’s back and waist._

_“Well Papa, what would you call it?”_

_Quentin answered instead, aware of Eliot’s little game._

_“Tsk tsk, my darling boy, this-“_

_He placed a quick, affectionate kiss to Eliot’s lips._

_“-is a kiss.”_

_Eliot jumped into action. “This, on the other hand-“  he abruptly yet smoothly swept his husband into a dramatic dip before their son could object. He proceeded to attack his mouth with a nibble to his bottom lip before kissing deeply and with entirely too much tongue. Quentin’s hand cradled his face and he gave back just as much as he was given with great enthusiasm. Of course, they could not hold the moment. They broke with laughter, only to laugh harder at the look of utterly disgusted horror on their son’s face._

_“That, my son, is making out. Learn the difference for the next time you see us being, you know, 'too gross'. It is going to happen often.”_

* * *

 

Times were different now. There was no marriage, no mosaic building, and painfully...no Teddy.

But just like Margo would always be his Bambi, Quentin would always be his _Baby_.

“That’s what you notice? I tell you I broke me and you pay attention to-“

But Quentin interrupted him.

“You haven’t called me Baby since… **Since**.”

He felt Quentin gulp and flex his fingers over his heart.

“What’s going on, Eliot?”

 

This was it. Time to drop all of his pretty amour. No matter the outcome, he was going to be brave and tell Quentin the truth.

Closing his eyes, he let the words flow from the deepest, darkest, truest river of his being.

“I pretend to be a lot of things, Q. At the end of the day, though, I’m just a fucked-up former farm boy coward with great taste.”

“El, that’s not- “

Eliot pressed another kiss to his hair. Quentin immediately shut up.

“Shh…Daddy’s speaking. This is…hard for me, so please no talking until I’m done, okay? I really need you to focus on what I’m saying, even if you don’t agree or like it, okay?”

Quentin nodded.

Eliot hugged Quentin as tightly as his arms would allow and ducked his head to hide his face in the safety of soft straight hair.

“I’m a fuck up, and I am a coward. I run when I’m scared. And…I break things, Q. I’m about to break a promise I made to a friend so I can keep a promise I made to myself. I am selfish and have the worst timing…”

He squeezed his eyes as he felt them burn. Try as he might, he could not stave off the tears.

“…but I really, _really_ fucking love you.”

He felt a gasp across his neck. Quentin’s fingers were tightening over his skin, and probably pulled out a chest hair or two. He didn’t care.

“Like we’re talking love of my life, can’t eat, can’t sleep, give up smoking just to live longer, endgame bullshit, and I’m terrified of losing you. I don’t trust happiness. Happiness looks fucking scary, and I don’t know what to do with it. So, this thing I broke? It belongs to you. It has been for a long time, but I have been afraid of you knowing what pieces you hold.”

He took a shuddering breath and loosened his arms.

“This isn’t me asking you to fix it. No matter what Q, you won’t lose me if you don’t feel the same. I’ll play whatever roll you will allow me in your life. You’re my best friend, and I am so grateful that you even let me be that… I just had a lot of time to think in my head and needed you to know.”

Quentin was a frozen statue mashed against his body.

“And yeah, it is very shitty of me to tell you all of his when you have a girlfriend. Did I mention that while I love you, I am not a good person? Because I am not. You are though, and I hurt you. That is literally my biggest regret in life. Trust me, I will tell you about that later. So, this isn’t me begging you to take my sorry ass back. This is me honest for once in my goddamn life, and asking you to forgive me.”

Of course that was the exact moment Penny23 came back with Professor Lipson.

The woman stared at room half full of green bunnies and Eliot’s boxer clad ass.

“What in the hell is going on in here?!”

* * *

 

 After some explaining and a spell that returned any new messenger rabbits back to sender, the five not in the bed attempted to help the men back so Eliot could get assessed.

“Okay guys, just take it nice and slow. Let’s make no sudden moves, and hopefully not exasperate the wound.”

Inch by inch he and Quentin were moved as a unit Eliot was on his back again. All the while Quentin hand stayed inside his gown, laid protectively over his heart. Eliot did not want to let him go. He was not sure how Q took all of that information, and he was honestly feeling more vulnerable than he had in his entire life. How was one supposed to feel when they have laid themselves bare?

Q at least seeming to be having some sort of dilemma. By the way he was clinging to him like a maladjusted baby koala, he seemed like he didn’t want to run far away from him. But he was also stiff in his arms, which could indicate discomfort. Either that or he was trying to not put any pressure on Eliot’s wound. He preferred the later to the former greatly.

Quentin finally got up when Lipson nudged him out of the way. Josh and Julia helped him climb out of the bed.

Margo maybe would have helped…if she had not been too busy berating Eliot.

“Goddamnit, El! What have I said about that not being a hero shit?! I swear, if you popped a single stitch, I am going to cut off you dick and feed it to one of the fucking rabbits.”

“Sorry Bambi. I’m a noteworthy anti-hero at best, but someone had to save Q from saving me. That cute ass needed rescuing from bruising.”

“Yeah yeah, chuckle cock, but you have a life-threatening injury, so it’s not _that_ cute. No offence Q.”

“Oh umm-yeah, that…that’s fine Margo…”

Quentin probably didn’t hear a word she said. His eyes were wide, and laser focused on Lipson and the healer student assistant inspecting the wound.

“Oh God, that-that looks bad. Is he- uh, is he okay…?! Did he re-injure himself or have any internal bleeding?”

Lipson pulled off her gloves and pat Eliot on the shoulder. “It does not appear like you caused any damage by moving, but I’m going to stress that you need to move as little as possible.”

Pulling on another clean pair of purple nitrile gloves, she moved the green bunny that was making the IV stand wiggle. She gave it a curious look when it kept hoarsely grunting WE DON’T SPEAK FISH.

 “Thankfully Henry informed me that the specialist made it in earlier today. I believe Todd is showing him to his lodgings. After he settles in, he should be here to check on the wound himself.”

* * *

 

Josh pulled Margo aside, and Julia and Penny23 followed close. The three of them circled around Josh, desperate to hear any revelations he might be privy to. (Well, two of them were desperate. Penny23 had no clue what had happened when he was away.)

“Okay, so I didn’t hear very much from where I was standing, but I’m pretty sure Eliot kind of just confessed his undying love to Quentin, and something about tasting and fucking on a farm.”

Margo’s eyes widened and Julia slapped her hand over her mouth.

Penny23 just looked at them perplexed.

“Uhh, why do you all look surprised that they’re in love? They were married for fifty years and had a kid. Do you think the farm fucking has anything to do with the Mosaic?”

All three turned to him.

Margo was the first to gain her voice. With a wave of her hand so dramatic that it would take Beyoncé to stand there and interpret it as saying, “23, you fucker, I am in some serious shock and you have turned the world upside down with your new wisdom that you better elaborate on now”, Margo emphatically said  “What?”

Penny23 looked at the three, and focused on Julia. “What, did you not know?”

“No, we had no idea.” Julia said, still wide eyed and looking towards her best friend. “Did you say _married for fifty years?”_

“And had a kid?!” Margo yell-whispered.

“Uh, yeah. Seriously, you did not know this?! They have been practically all over each other the past four days. Coldwater spoon-fed the man ice chips for fuck’s sake!”

“How do you know this for sure?” Josh asked crossing his arms.

Penny23 threw his hands in the air. “I mean, I thought you all knew, but Eliot hasn’t exactly had his mental shields up. They have been down since he woke up. I didn’t want to be a dick and complain after the man almost died.

Margo walked close and pulled on his scarf.

“You are going to tell us everything you know, starting now. Our boys have been holding back some serious shit.”

* * *

 

Comments &kudos = love!

 


	6. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There seems to be a plumbing issue  
> A wild Todd appears with a new friend (not the one you think)  
> Quentin uses Zefron for pick-up lines  
> Eliot is a mama bear  
> Will Margo ever get laid?  
> And Fen? She might be a little crabby.
> 
> What could #3 and #5 be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! We're getting closer to our goal for our boys, and there are some surprises coming in the next chapter. Hold tight!
> 
> What do you think is goingon? Is Fen in danger? Any thoughts or theories you would like to discuss? Come talk to me on Tumblr! lunaraindrop
> 
> Kudos and Comments = Love!

 

* * *

Being crushed under the body of the love of your life can oddly bring some mental clarity. As Jane Chatwin had once said, Quentin was a volunteer tomato. He was the _to-mah-toe-est_ tomato to ever tomato, okay? In saying that, he could admit that he had a bit of a hero complex. He could also admit that that complex doubles when danger is directed to someone he cares about.

What? He’s a protective asshole. How surprised can you be?

So, what isn’t such a big stretch is that he could be a little…recklessness.

Maybe a lot reckless.

Alright, fuck you, very reckless. (God, he got the message, okay?)

In hindsight, he thought (as the hand that was not groping Eliot’s chest started to go numb) that maybe he and Josh could have just wheeled the tray table over El’s body as a buffer. Like, what fool hurdles into an incapacitated injured man’s bed in the hopes of saving him, without thinking they might cause more damage than the thing they are trying to save said man from?

Oh, right, that would be him. He is literally The Fool. He and Julia are iconic characters in _The Flying Forest_. Which, at the moment, might or might not have been a good thing.

Right. So, being a reckless fool tomato? Did not go how he planned. (Then again, when does it ever?)

Instead of protecting Eliot from being pummeled by falling bunnies, Eliot risked his life to save him by rolling them away from danger. (Which was actually pretty impressive. Like, wow. In any other circumstance he probably would have been half-hard instead of, you know, fearing El’s intestines possibly spilling out of his body.)

Oh, Eliot. His stupid, stupid, fucking **_beautiful_** Eliot. If Quentin had just one second more to think, he would have known how the man would have reacted.

Fifty years, bitches.

For Quentin might be protective…but he has nothing on Eliot. He was a goddamn mamma bear. (And that brought up some really confusing thoughts on Fray and Freud that he really did not want to think about.)

On more than one occasion he has stepped in harm’s way to try and save Quentin’s miserable life. Literally. There was a fucking reason Margo had to tell him to not be a hero. He is very there with her, even if it is like a maladjusted banged-up pot calling a designer yet slightly drunk kettle black. He will admit he is a hypocrite, if only to save Eliot from himself. Teleporting spam rabbits would not break Quentin, but steamrolling him into the bed rail could break Eliot.

So, imagine his shock when the other man stopped him mid-panic mode to tell him that the only thing that was broken…was his heart. As the man pressed Quentin’s hand over that amazing, pumping, beating organ, he couldn’t help seeing the analogy and role reversal.

He really didn’t ever have to fear confusing El and The Monster, did he?

When The Monster was using Eliot’s body, he ripped hearts and other innards out of Gods. It was frightening and disgusting to witness those beloved hands doing something so cruel.

And yet here was Eliot, offering his self-proclaimed broken heart up to Quentin like a sacrifice. Like he was inviting Quentin to reach into his chest and take it out, so he could keep it in his pocket.

Because the pieces belonged to him.

Him.

No one else.

_Hmm…_

…

But only if he wanted it.

_Umm…_

…

……

Ha.

Ha. Ha.

 **_“If”_ ** _._

If?!

 

Forgive him if he was a little flabbergasted. How was a guy supposed to react when he’s given such a monumental gift?

How do you handle seeing color in your black and white world again when your best friend calls you ‘Baby’ and tells you he never stopped loving you?

What do you say when he asks you to be silent when he admits such beautiful things to you, and yet says such horrible things about himself?

What do you do when the man you love not only fans the flame of your hope, but lights your depressive little soul with a joy so strong that you feel like you are burning from the inside out?

Apparently, you gap into their neck like a fish and pull out their chest hair.

_Shit._

El somehow managed to give the most pulchritudinous and infuriating love confession, and he couldn’t muster a single word?

And what the **fuck**. _This_ was the moment Eliot decided to open up to him?! Really? When the world is going to shit with an army of nonsense talking bunnies?

It almost made him hysterically giggle in fondness.

_Oh El. Of course. Of course, this moment, you dramatic fucking bastard. If that is what you need, I will gladly be your captive audience. Another fifty years, if you let me. More._

But now out of the bed, Quentin was faced with a dilemma.

Well, five.

The first one was for all of them to find out what the fuck was up with all the rabbits.

The second was to check on Fen and see if Fillory had subsequently also gone to shit.

The third one…well he’ll get to that, because the fourth-

-was Alice.

God, Quentin is such a shitty boyfriend to her. They had just begun being close to each other again, and here he was about to ruin that. He really did love her, and he wanted her to be a part of his life.

But.

He has it on good authority that he was a good _husband_ to Eliot, and that’s what mattered most. Because given the choice…it was no contest. He would always choose Eliot.

That just left the fifth.

He carefully grabbed his coat off of the floor, only to realize it was covered in rabbit piss.

Great.

“Going somewhere?”

He turned to see Margo standing there, holding up Eliot’s brown duster jacket. Even though she looked like she was graciously offering it for him to take, her eyes were screaming that she would murder him if he so much as left the room.

_Oh God, did she hear the confession?_

That was dumb. The room is only so big. She was bound to have heard something.

_Oh God, does that mean Julia heard something too?!_

Shit. He could feel a looong conversation coming on.

Yeah, this might look bad. Why would someone leave after hearing someone pouring their heart out? He just needed to let Margo know that this was in no-way a rejection. He would like to keep his balls, thank you. He had plans for them as soon as Eliot was well enough for...physical exertion.

Back to his list, though. The fifth had to do with Margo, and he needed to be on her good side.

But that had to wait.

“Yeah, in a few minutes. There’s something I, umm, I need to take care of.”

If anything, her “murderous bitch face” just got sassier.

“Something more important than bunny-ocalypse?”

He paused, then nodded.

“Uh, yeah. Very. We…need to-uh, talk in a minute.”

Behind her Quentin could see the rest of their group circling Eliot’s bed as Lipson walked out of the room. They seemed to be ready to talk strategy. He walked around Margo and squeezed himself back to the head of the bed. She squeezed herself in next to him, not letting him get far from her fairy eye.

He was just thankful that she let him be closer to Eliot.

Even if he was purposely avoiding his eye contact.

(He might be a bad boyfriend, but this really was not the time for him to climb Eliot like a low-lying tree. That made directly looking at the man a big no. Think of the children. Or, well, murderous green hell rabbits?)

For a few minutes they talked about who should go where next. While Eliot would be stuck in his bed, he was really concerned about Fen and wanted someone to go to Fillory asap. Margo and oddly Josh looked just as worried, if not more. While Margo was getting more and more agitated that she could not go to Fillory herself, Josh was pacing and suggesting that he should make his way to the Fillory portal set up in The Physical Kids cottage. Julia and Margo kept shutting him down that with all of the bunny chaos, he really should not be going alone.

Okay, honestly? They were getting nowhere, and Margo had made two _Fillory and Further_ referenced and actually _growled_ about being frustrated sexually and as a banned King when Penny 23 offered to go to Fillory with Josh. Just as he was about to suggest that Margo and Josh go back to the idea of fucking in a closet, Todd appeared in the infirmary doorway.

Yes, Todd.

Holding another **motherfucking** rabbit.

All the occupants on the room groaned.

Eliot was the one to speak first.

“Todd, please tell me that I am hallucinating and that is actually a bottle of Gray Goose in your hands. I really need a drink.”

Todd, ever earnest, anxiously shifted on the linoleum.

“I’m so sorry, but this is a rabbit. I’ll go back to the cottage and bring you some, though!”

Eliot waved him off.

Margo was next. “Why the fuck did you bring a rabbit here? Can’t you see that we are swimming in them?”

Todd took a look around the room.

“I see that now. So sorry. It’s just that the cottage has a ton of rabbits too, and they’re all talking-”

Josh cheered.

“Yes! It worked.”

“-but none of ours are green, or-” he sniffed the air and his large eyes creased in confusion. “-smell like pot?”

Instead of being upset, Josh’s face brightened like he just won the biggest carnival prize.

“Oh my GOD! Did I invent pot bunnies?! Between them and the psychedelic carrots, we could make a killing!”

Quentin couldn’t handle it. He blinked and shook his head. “Josh, put a pin in the pot bunny thing.” Turning to Todd, he pointed at the rabbit. “Why did you bring that one here?”

This spurred Todd on. “Oh! Yeah, Grandpa heard what this one was saying, and insisted that I run it over here.”

Everyone (aside from Todd) was confused. Julia was the first to speak.

“Todd, how did your grandfather hear what this one was saying? Is he on campus?”

“Yes, and actually temporarily rooming with me. He’s the healer specialist here to help get Eliot all better.”

This news…did not go over well.

Margo put a voice to Quentin’s thoughts.

“Your **grandpa**. **_Your_** grandpa is the one that is going to treat Eliot?”

“Yep!”

Eliot reached past Quentin to grab Margo’s hand.

“Oh God, I’m going to die, aren’t I? Margo, make sure I am buried in my Westwood and paisley jade vest, the one that brings out my eyes.”

She squeezed back, never taking her eyes off of Todd. “Don’t worry, Boo. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll be staying here while he’s here. If he’s a quack, I’ll straight up stab the bastard in the scull with my heel.”

Eliot looked relieved.

“Thanks, Bambi.”

Todd blinked owlishly while Quentin shared a smile with Josh. Clearly traveling to Ibiza did not acclimate Todd to Margo’s threats. She was scary, but that was how she showed she cared. That made him gulp. He did still need to talk to her.

Still wearing his gloves, Penny 23 walked over and lifted the rabbit from Todd’s hands. He put it up to his ear, before pulling it away with a quizzical look.

“What is it saying?” asked Julia.

“Okay, this is some cryptic shit. It is saying ‘CRAB KNIFE  E-FOUNTAIN BLOCK HELP’. What the fuck does that mean?”

While 23, Todd, and Quentin himself did not understand, he witnessed Eliot, Margo, Josh, and Julia’s faces ashen.

_Oh fuck, That’s not good. Is that code?_

Julia came closer and listened to the bunny herself.

“It’s speaking like Fen texts. I remember she said that the crab with the knife gif was how she felt once. It’s one of her favorite gifs. This is from her directly!”

Margo left Quentin’s side to snatch the rabbit.

“e-Fountain…she does know the internet very well, so I doubt it is a website.”

Suddenly, Eliot grabbed Quentin’s hand like a vice. Looking over, Quentin realized Eliot looked truly frightened.

“No e-fountain, **Earth** fountain. The fountain is blocked.”

Penny23 turned to the group. “Okay, we have to check that shit out, and now. It is one thing to be annoyed by spam bot bunnies, but there could be some serious fucking shit going on.”

With a little more discussion, it was decided that Josh and Quinten would go with 23, but all three would only go to observe the fountain.

More than once, Eliot voiced his concerns.

“I don’t like this. What if this is some sort of trap you are walking into? We will have no way of knowing something is wrong.”

Any other time Quentin would either completely agree with him due to horror movie logic, or argue and say, “Well yeah, this is probably a trap, but someone has to walk into it so we can have information.” Quentin usually took whatever opportunities life threw at him to be the hero of the story. Only…in the strangest twists of fate, Quentin Coldwater did not want to go to Fillory.

Honestly though, could he be blamed?

He was _this_ close to getting his husband back, and what? He’s supposed to leave him and go off world to play detective?

Once upon a time that might have been appealing.

Being the chosen one.

The hero.

Like Harry bravely leaving Ginny to go look for horcruxes with Ron and Hermione.

Now though? As sappy it might have sounded, he only wanted to go on adventures if Eliot was by his side. They were partners in everything from life to crime, and he would not have it any other way. If he was going to go to Fillory, he wanted Eliot healthy enough to go with him. Plus, everyone knows that Harry should have ended up with Draco. Duh.

But it was not safe for only Josh and 23 to go. Margo was not leaving Eliot, and while Julia had powers, she had been possessed less than a week ago. She got a free pass out of risking her life for a few days.

Still, Quentin did not want to leave the situation with Eliot as it was. He had yet to say anything to the man, and here he was about to leave for the first time since he woke back up, possibly walking into danger that he could not follow him into.

A brief memory of the smell of gunpowder in Blackspire reminded him of what lengths El would go to protect him.

He needed him at ease, and not stressing. What could he do?

It made him think. _What would Eliot do if it was me?_

_He would gather me up in his arms, kiss my forehead, and say something slightly scandalous to make me laugh._

That was something that always slightly bothered him when it came to Eliot. It wasn’t that he made affection look so simple. That was one of the many reasons Quentin loved him so much (he loved cuddles). No, the problem was…height. As much as he fucking loved that Eliot was taller than him (little spoon? Hell yes), he could not easily return the favor. When he wanted a kiss, he either had to tilt his head up to indicate he wanted one, or grab and drag Eliot’s mouth to his own. The closest he could get to the sweetness and comfort of giving a forehead kiss was either to El’s neck or shoulder. The first one usually ended up not being as much comforting and more a precursor to some amazing sex, while the second just did not convey nearly half of what Quentin felt.

...but Eliot was not too tall now, was he? He was bedridden, and at the perfect height to receive some of Quentin’s affection.

As Margo tried to reassure Eliot, Quentin rocked on his heels. Was he really going to do this? He was still with Alice, but Eliot did things like this all the time. This was safe and not crossing a line, right?

He made a couple aborted moves, feeling his hands lift but his knees lock.

Julia poked him in the arm. “Uh, Q? Are you okay?”

That set him in motion. Not taking another second to hesitate, he nodded and leaned over the bed. He caught Eliot’s surprised eyes for just a second before his kiss met its mark. Quentin already knew that it was not going to be perfect, but he poured all of his bottled-up happiness and longing into it. His lips pressed a little too firm, unlike how Eliot’s kisses were always tender, so he gentled his lips on his brow and pressing again. It was maybe awkwardly too long, but by the small intake of breath he heard, and the fact that Eliot did to move away, he saw those as a good sign. 

Quentin pulled back, smoothed some of the slightly greasy errant curls, and smiled down at the man he loved. 

“I’m not going to say something stupid like ‘I’ll be right back’, because I have seen enough horror movies to know that that is a one-way ticket to not coming back.”

“So, what are you going to say, oh horror guru?”

Instead of smiling at Eliot’s quip, he gripped his shoulder as hard as he dared and touched his forehead against the other man’s.

“That I have too much fucking shit to do, and I’ll be damned if I am kept from you due to an infestation and plumbing problem. We’re just going to look, and I’ll drag 23 and Josh back myself if they even consider taking more than twenty minutes.”

He felt a tentative hand brush the fringe away from his cheek, before more boldly threading through the hair at his temple.

“Oh? What things do you, you know, ‘have to do’, Q?”

This **did** make Quentin smile. He pulled back and looked down with a boyish grin, enjoying the quizzitive yet barely optimistic visage on that roguish face.

“What’s that line from _The Greatest Showman_ you were humming along to earlier?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

“I literally have only seen the movie once, and not even all the way through. Did you expect me to memorize songs when we were interrupted by homicidal talking rabbits?”

Quentin laughed.

“Q, unless you are suggesting we get Josh’s pot bunnies and teach them to sing for our very own fucked-up circus, I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

Instead of being frustrated, Quentin decided to be brave and trailed his knuckle down Eliot’s cheek.

Yeah, that barely optimistic visage El had earlier? That was replaced by a look of awe, and the beginnings of tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.

Still grinning, Quentin whispered into his ear.

“What if we rewrite the stars?”

Tears actually rolling down his cheek, Eliot could not help but be a sassy brat.

“That…is the cheesiest pick-up line ever, Coldwater. I should be ashamed to consort with such a Zephron lover.”

Quentin’s eyes practically glowed.

“But are you?”

Eliot swallowed and pulled Quentin until they were nose to nose.

“Actually, no. Ashamed is definitely the furthest I am feeling right now.”

Both breathed heavily as Quentin gave a quick nuzzle to Eliot’s nose.

“Uh, Q?” Josh called out, sounding quite reluctant. “It’s time to go.”

Quentin extracted himself from Eliot’s hold. Stepping back, he took the offered duster from Margo, and grabbed Penny 23’s hand. A second later, they were in front of the Earth's fountain. It actually looked fine.

It was _Fillory's_ fountain that had the problem.

“Holy shit.”

* * *

Kudos and Comments = Love!

 


	7. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot tells a story.
> 
> Q's kiss might have done more than he realized.
> 
> Fen holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEN! Finally!!! What's going on, folks? I want to hear your theories!  
> We are so close to Q's #3 and #5. What are they? Let me know!
> 
> WARNING: Mentions blood, minor injuries, and the possibility of infection in this chapter.
> 
> Come visit me at lunaraindrop on Tumblr!
> 
> Kudos and Comments =Love!

* * *

 

Only moments after their friends blipped out of the room and Todd was hurried out to retrieve booze, Margo and Julia turned on Eliot.

In a move that was all the false sweetness of a predatory cat chirping at flying birds to come closer, Margo climbed back into her spot on the bed and ran her fingers through Eliot’s hair.

“Eliot, 23 was just telling us the most amazing story! Right, Julia?”

Unlike Margo, Julia didn’t look hungry for his blood. Her mouth was set like she was trying, and failing, to not smile. There was a light, a _mirth,_ something completely human and un-Godlike shining in her eyes, like she was some prosecutor on _Law and Order_ that won the lottery but had to finish her case before she could quit her job.

“Oh yes, Margo, very amazing. What was it about again? _Love in the Time of Farming_?”

“Hmm, not quite. That sounds too much like something from The Sims 4.”

“Oh, right. Right.” Julia mock nodded as her smile tried once again to break through.

Margo twisted one of Eliot’s dark curls around her finger as his brow furrowed. He knew Margo, Julia, and Josh purposely tried to give him and Q privacy, but probably picked up on something, but Penny23 had not been in the room at the time of his confession. He went to get Lipson. Up until that point Eliot had been a lying coward, and both he and Quentin had not talked at length about their time at the Mosaic.

_So, what could he have said? It’s not like-SHIT._

He groaned and tipped his head towards the ceiling.

“I don’t have any mental wards up, do I?”

Margo genuinely smiled, even as she tugged on his hair just a little too hard.

“Afraid not, El.”

He looked down into her soulful eyes and noticed the immediate change. Eliot could practically feel her reading his unspoken words on his face now that he was raw and open.  He could tell that Margo had wanted to be mad at him for not telling her such a monumental thing, but saw the emotion drop, morphing into sorrow and sympathy.

“Oh, _El_. Honey, no.” Julia seemed puzzled by the sudden emotional shift as Margo pulled Eliot into a hug, but still did not lose the shine. She seemed to be content just to wait out their moment. Until Eliot spilled the proverbial beans, as it were. He would do that, but not before taking comfort in his Bambi’s silk-covered arms. Hiding this love, this _life_ from her had been so difficult and _painful_. He had been so alone. Remembering how much he fucking _missed_ her and her ability to just see him, know him at a glance, made him draw her a little closer.

He pulled back and settled onto the bed, ready to address his audience.

“Yes, well. I will need to remedy that. I can’t have 23 hearing all of my salacious thoughts. I would have to start charging him.”

He tipped his head to the side and looked at Julia. The smile she had tried to hard to keep at bay broke into a full grin. Eliot could not help but smile back. Quentin **_had_** hinted at something, hadn’t he? With that awful line from _The Greatest Showman_? While he should forever tease the man for maybe, possibly, _hopefully_ using that as a romantic gesture, he couldn’t help but feel…happy.

It was so…Quentin Coldwater, he thought with fondness. How is it possible that that exasperating, adorable man could take such a nerdy little quote from a musical, and make it feel like a maybe, could be, ( **please** be) love declaration? How did one forehead kiss feel like the man just mended Eliot’s broken heart?

_How the fuck is he not here right now to calm my fucking nerves?_

But he wasn’t exactly on pins and needles though, was he?

As strange as it was, as fucking scared as he had been, for the first time in quite a long time…he wasn’t really afraid. All of this because some sentimental _fool_ with a dimple and hot chocolate eyes picked up his wrenched heart and took it with him.

_Oh God, I may make myself puke with all of these shmaltzy thoughts. When did I become so…soft?_

As he settled into this tentative feeling of hope, he put his arms behind his head. He knew Margo and Julia could sense story time coming on by the way they both learned forward, and Eliot would be such a bad host to deny them. (Plus, this was his favorite story that he never got to tell. It was time to remedy that.)

“So, Penny23 told you a tale, hmm? Well, no offence, but he is a terrible storyteller, and I’m afraid he did not do this story any justice.”

Margo shrugged, but he could tell she was holding back her true delight.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thoroughly entertained by hearing about your thoughts when Quentin was talking about being fucked. I guess that teasing orgasms out of the boy is one way to handle the rambling.”

Julia leaned on her hand.

“I, for one liked hearing about you and Q embarrassing your teenage son by being _disgustingly_ in love.”

Eliot felt the smug, dirty grin grace his face.

“ _Those_ are your highlights? I knew it. Pathetic storytelling.”

He turned his grin to Margo, before wiggling his finger for Julia to come closer.

“Gather round former kings and…” he lifted an eyebrow at Julia, “…whatever the hell you are now. You get the privilege to be the first to hear our story.”

He paused for effect, ready to drop a bomb on them.

Oh, how he loved to be a dramatic little shit.

“And how befitting that it is the two of you. After all, our grandchildren were named after you.”

Both women were astonished.

“Wait, grandchildren?!”

“Son of a clit.”

* * *

 

 

  **Meanwhile in Fillory**

 

In a darkened throne room, an exhausted yet determined Fen held ever tighter to the struggling crown. Even as the onyx and quartz crystals cut into the soft meat of her palms, she did not let go. She gripped through the hurt and pain. Too many things were at stake.

She needed to hold on.

Tick Pickwick walked in with a basket and a strained smile, followed by a team of grooming ladies carrying a garnet colored satin dress.

“Your… interim majesty. I have brought some supplies. Hopefully I can help clean the blood from your wounds while they help you freshen up. We must keep you looking presentable.”

She tried not to look at how much blood she must have lost while holding the crown, but she could not ignore how her daffodil linen dress stuck to her legs in places, or how her shoes were stuck to the floor.

“Thank you so much, Pickwick. Ladies. As much as I appreciate it, you need to stay away from my hands.”

Pickwick looked alarmed.

“But your interim majesty-?!”

“It is…so hard to hold the crown, and as we know, I am the only one that can. So, just, umm, go around them?”

The grooming ladies looked on in sympatry, as Pickwick obviously tried not to panic.

“Yes, alright. We’ll clean up and dress you as best we can. I just pray you don’t fall ill to infection, your interim majesty.”

“Thank you, Pickwick.”

Pick turned around to ensure Fen’s modestly as the ladies cut the dress from her body, to replace it with the new one. Without looking, Fen knew the yellow dress was ruined by rusty stains, otherwise they would not have even suggested it.

As they pulled the dark satin dress past her knees, Fen felt herself go lightheaded, before shaking it off and gripping the crown tighter.

She cleared her throat and addressed Pick’s back.

“Do we have any word on when the scholars will be here?”

“Your interim majesty, that is a bit of great news! They should be arriving at our shores within the morning!”

Even though she knew he was smiling, she could still hear the strain.

_If morning decides to come, and doesn’t rewind back into night, or jump ahead to another season._

Time could not be trusted or predicted at the moment.

Still, she grasped for something to be optimistic about.

“Have we received any messages back?”

Pick didn’t even try to spare her anxiety this time.

“I am afraid not, your interim majesty. There is really no telling how many…extra messages went out with your originals, but now the westward courtyard is filling with rabbits. We fear they are returns with what they are saying.”

Fen pouted. This was not good.

“But!” Pick said cheerfully, “We have team of servants listening to them all and documenting what they are saying! Perhaps one will be from our saviors!”

With that spark of hope, Fen straightened her back and lifted her chin.

_They’re coming. I know they are! They just need to figure out how to get past the fountain, unbanish Margo, and make sure Eliot is healing alright._

She smiled to herself with confidence, even as she felt a new trickle blending in with her skirt.

_I just need to hold on a little longer, that’s all._

* * *

Kudos and Comments = Love!

 


	8. Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin remembers something important from Fillory and Further.
> 
> Penny 23 has a theory
> 
> Josh looks at fruits and vegetables.
> 
> Eliot continues to tell stories, but does not realize he may be *part* of one.  
> ...
> 
> They are going to need a shit ton of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! The plot thickens! What is going on with the brambles and vines? Who is the kind old wizard, and what does that mean for Quentin and Eliot?
> 
> Anyone have any theories on Q's #3 and #5? Want to talk Queliot? Come visit me at lunaraindrop on Tumblr!

 

* * *

In chapter five of _The Secret Sea,_ there is a very famous scene where Rupert Chatwin brings Jane the pumpkin seeds she needs to make contact with The Watcher Woman’s captive. Jane had been confused, because Rupert got the pumpkin from the village of Briarwood, which should not have been possible. The land had once been choked out by hundreds and thousands of bramble bushes and thorny vines due to an angry fairy’s curse. It had made farming nearly impossible. What Jane finds out is that a kind old wizard had worked his magic to save the village from starvation. While he could not clear out the brambles and vines, (that was Rupert’s job to save the day), he _could_ change the nature of the plants that plagued the village. The once barren, sharp limbs would grow heavy with seasonal fruits, vegetables, even flowers.

Quentin had always thought of this scene as a type of beautiful metaphor. Like, sure, there is pain and shit in this world, but with magic and love something good could grow from these things.

He once saw a stunning piece of fan art on Tumblr depicting this scene. Everything was in Autumn colors like scarlet and magenta, and really deep blues. Fillory’s two suns were beginning to set, and made the orange of the pumpkins almost shine a saturated gold. The twists and turns of the vines made it all look like a cross between Disney’s _Sleeping Beaut_ y and a spectacular Tim Burton-esk harvest dreamscape.

Quentin loved it. It was one of his favorite pieces of Fillory fan art.

In his old age he saw the _real_ Briarwood, before and after the change. While it did not look at all like the painting, it was his companion that made everything beautiful and magical.

Seeing the fountain now, though, he could only look on in shock. There was nothing whimsical or pretty about the towering thorny limbs growing from the water. Aside from the obvious of giant growing plants coming out of the fountain like a kraken, there was just something…off.

Quentin blinked.

“This…doesn’t make any sense.”

Penny23 turned to him. “Which part? The spiny jungle, or the massive amounts of food growing on it?”

He shook his head and walked closer to where Josh was crouched. Using the “borrowed” shards of enchanted glass, Josh was intently studying a zucchini.

“Well, umm, both? Neither?”

“Well that fucking helps.”

He breathed out and tried to focus his thoughts, even as he felt his heart start to gallop in his chest.

 

_There’s just no way…is there? But the **book** said…?!_

 

“Okay, so, uhh, it’s like this. In the books there is this town c-called Briarwood, and at one time it was covered in stuff like this because of a fairy curse. The vines and bushes are like weeds, and all the plants and trees that produced food died. Since at the time all the people of Fillory did was pick the fruits and vegetables and let magic do the rest, they did not know how to get rid of the vines.”

Penny23 walked to the other side of the fountain, and called out to him. “So, what? One day they just started sprouting shit?”

“No, see Rupert found out from the sheep knight-“

“Hold on, _sheep_ knight?”

“Yeah, it is a sheep that’s a knight.”

“I got that, dumbass. I meant how the **fuck** is a sheep supposed to be a knight?”

Quentin threw his hands up in the air.

“God, Penny, I don’t know! Talking animals have to be able to make a living too. That’s not really the point.”

Penny 23 crossed his arms and waited.

“Okay, so the point is that the sheep knight told Rupert that a kind old wizard traveled there and used magic to make fruits and vegetables grow on the vines and bushes during regular picking times. Even though they were not trees or roots, the same things would grow on them at the systematic harvest times.”

At that moment Josh braced himself and yanked the zucchini from the vine. Since nothing happened, he shrugged and broke it open. 23 walked back over to stand by the two men. Josh held the vegetable up for them to see. “This looks like a completely normal zucchini. I can’t see any enchantments or magic linked to it.”

Quentin nodded.

“If these plants are similar or the same as the bramble bushes and thorny vines from Briarwood, then the spell work would only be on the producing plants themselves. Any fruits, vegetables, hell even flowers growing on the vines or bushes would be normal and umm… made safe to eat.”

Josh stood up and stared in wonder at the tower of plants before them.

“This… is AMAZING! Do you have any idea how many people these things could feed?!”

Feeling his own wonder and simmering disbelief under his skin, Quentin nodded.

“Uhh, yeah. Approximately three to four villages for two years.”

Both men turned towards him. Penny furrowed his eyebrows. “Those are _strangely_ specific numbers, Quentin. How do you know this?”

Wide eyed, Quentin walked over and plucked a peach and a plum nestled together between two large thorns.

“That’s the part that does not make any sense to me. I _lived_ it. Eliot and I got sent to Fillory of the past during the quest, and lived out our whole lives there working on the mosaic. But Margo saved us from getting stuck, so that life really didn’t happen. We have the memories, but that timeline got erased.”

Penny 23 and Josh were a little alarmed to see tears start to gather around Quentin’s wide, stunned eyes.

“But that old kind wizard…was Eliot. He practiced growing Pinot Noir grapes for champagne for _years_ in our garden, and did the spell the year before he…before he died. I’m just now remembering that he was credited in the story for saving more than one village from starvation and making it possible for Jane to get the pumpkin seeds to save the captive.”

Josh raised his hand.

“Uhh, how is that possible? If that timeline was erased, then how are these plants growing fruit and how is Eliot mentioned in the books?”

Quentin felt light-headed as elated, panic-stricken laughter tried to bubble-up and escape his throat. He stumbled as if drunk from his revelations, and his concerned friends had to hold him steady.

“If these plants are the same as the ones Eliot spelled, then that means that not only do I know how to get rid of them-“

He started crying even as he let his caged laughter free.

“-but that means that our son and grandchildren were maybe not erased! Our-ha! Oh my God, our family m-m-might still be alive!”

Josh looked stunned. “Shit! Quentin, your family might be out there in Fillory right now!”

 Penny23, on the other hand, looked contemplative and squeezed Quentin’s shoulder.

“If that’s the case, then that means that whatever is going on might have to do _with_ your family. I mean, why now? Why after magic is unregulated and Eliot is Monster free? Why not fifty years ago? Why is _this_ plant, the one that Eliot spelled, blocking the fountain to Fillory?”

Josh caught on.

“Why the influx of rabbits? That happened when Fen started sending messages to us in _Eliot’s_ room.”

Quentin, being Quentin though, felt his happiness dim. He used the sleeve of his borrowed coat to wipe his face.

“But what if these are just coincidences? What if they have nothing to do with us, and I am getting my hopes up for nothing?”

Penny23 rolled his eyes. “Quentin, really? When does this shit ever have nothing to do with us? My guess is that you and Eliot fucked something up while you were fucking _each other_ in the past, and now your pissed off descendants are causing trouble.”

Instead of being offended or defensive about the insult to his family, Quentin’s eyes narrowed.

“Wait. Neither of you seem surprised that Eliot and I were together and have- _had_ … **have** a family?”

Josh waved him off. “Oh yeah, Eliot has no mental filter and 23 filled us in on your life.”

Quentin wanted to be embarrassed. He really did. However, he felt that elation coming back with a vengeance. He turned to 23. “For you to know all of that, that means-“

“-that he was thinking of his ‘domestic bliss’ of being a farmer and being married to a nerd, and drowning in pining over your ass? God, like non-stop. If I wasn’t trying to be nice, I would have told him to shut up about his love for giving you hand jobs against trees.”

Deciding to own it, Quentin lifted his chin. “Well, they were really good hand jobs. He has big hands.”

Penny 23 pointed at him. “You I can tell to shut up!”

Josh got both of their attention. “Okay, as much as I would love to hear about Eliot’s ability to effectively celebrate Arbor Day, that might have to wait until later.”

Josh pulled some cherries off a bush and started to snack.

“Q, how do we get rid of these things?”

“Well, the book said that Rupert accidentally found out the cure for the curse when he knocked his tea over onto one of the plants and it disappeared. He went back to London to get more tea and brewed an entire cauldron full to pour on the plants.”

“Tea. We need fucking tea?”

“Yeah, like a shit ton of tea.”

Penny23 sighed. “Do either of you know of any place that sells cheap tea?”

* * *

 

Eliot had just finished telling Margo and Julia about the time Q had entered and won a huge gambling game of gin rummy to buy Teddy some new books, and how he was so excited by the win that he sent their son to a babysitter’s and fucked Eliot all night long on the mosaic, when all three men popped back into the room…

…carrying armfuls of fruit.

“What the fuck?”

Q, looking like he had been crying but won that jackpot all over again, walked up to Eliot’s bed. Instead of telling Eliot what the ever loving fuck was going on, he turned to Julia and threw her an apple.

“Hey, uh, Jules? Do you remember the kind old wizard that saved Briarwood?”

“Yeah…”

She looked at their arm laden with fruit and caught on. “Q, does he have anything to do with what is going on with the fountain?”

Quentin smiled. “I have no idea, but maybe we should talk to him about the spell.”

With a huge, gleeful grin, Quentin leaned close and softly kissed his cheek.

“Hey, El. Did you know that you were a character in _Fillory and Further_?"

* * *

Kudos and Comments = Love!

 


	9. Hoodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Fillory, Fen continues to hold on, and some intellectual help has arrived!  
> Her heart is troubled as she holds the crown.  
> There are some clues revealed to the mystery of what's going on in Fillory.
> 
> Oh, and there's mention of talking fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears! I have had some personal issues as of late, and wanted to get this chapter out. This is a little bit of a short chapter, but I believe it is best to be broken from what's to come.  
> Many of you were worried about Fen, so this chapter is for her!  
> We get some clues as to what the fuck is going on in Fillory, and how those problems might be solved. (So pay attention, lovelies ;) )
> 
> Please feel free to give me your theories! I would love to hear them!
> 
> Comments and Kudos= Love!

* * *

 

Pickwick jauntily walked into the throne room carrying what looked like a small glass bottle. Fen tiredly smiled at him. Still holding the rebellious crown, she leaned heavily on the high king’s throne on the floor.

“You seem happy, Tick. Good news?”

He bowed to Fen and presented the item in his hand. “Splendid news, your interim majesty! The centaurs sent some potion to replenish you from your blood loss, and the scholars have finally arrived!”

Fen sighed with relief. “Oh thank Julia! I was getting really dizzy. Where are the scholars?”

Tick held out his hand in a stop motion as he kneeled at her ground-seated position. Even though she was not currently really royalty for some unknown magical reason, Tick always seemed to like and respect her more as a king than Eliot or Margo, or even Josh (though he seemed to favor Josh more over Margo or Eliot, which, well, _ticked_ her off, but at the moment she could forgive because of his kindness.) Case in point, he did not seem to feel demeaned that he was on the floor and getting his nice dress pants dirty with her stale blood.

“With all due respect, your interim majesty, perhaps it would be best to take the potion first, then hear the good news?”

Fen blinked her worn-out eyes. “Oh. Yes, you’re right. Let’s do that first.”

Tick pulled out the cork, but seemed hesitant and troubled as to what he should do next. Fen understood. Her hands now and in the immediate future were occupied with holding the crown. She could not let go, or the kingdom would be in peril again. Fillory needed a leader, and the magic of the land would only let “They that can hold the crown” be that leader until either a Child of Earth or the true High King returned. She would be unable to hold the bottle or pull out the cork to get the liquid inside. That would mean that Tick would have to do it _for her,_ but probably feared offending his current temporary king.

Fen knew what to do. With as much grace and authority as she could muster, she straightened her back and pointed at the bottle with her nose. “Tick, as it is my duty for the people of Fillory to hold this crown, I am bestowing unto you the permission to be my hands until I have use of mine again.”

She had made the right choice. Tick seemed to sigh in relief. “Thank you, your interim majesty for the honor of being your hands. How may I assist you?”

He knew what needed to be done, but the rules of court and rank needed to be followed. She understood this silly game. “If you would be so kind, would you-ah-administer the potion provided by the centaurs?”

That seemed to be the right combination of formal words to get Tick into action. “Certainly, your interim majesty!”

With a pull of the cork, Tick held the bottle up for her to drink. Fen’s eyes popped open in delight. “Mmm! Berry flavored!” In a matter of seconds, she felt her strength coming back. Like a jug for water, she was slowing filling and feeling less drained and empty.

Getting a second wind, Fen smiled and narrowed her eyes in determination. Bravely, she squeezed the still struggling crown. It was almost like the crown knew that she had regained her strength and was putting up a bigger fight. Replenished blood meant that the numbness her wounds had developed was replaced with a fresh wave of pain. She didn’t even flinch. She smiled eagerly at Tick.

“Whew! Okay then! Tell me where the scholars are.”

Tick bowed. “Certainly, your interim majesty. The team of scholars of B.L.O.W. and our kitchen boy have been given accommodations in the East Starlight Pond and the Rose Garden.”

Fen had heard of the wonders of B.L.O.W. since she was a little girl. Her father had told her (as he made a brilliant sword that shined blue in the sunlight) that the Temple of Knowledge on Blackwell Isle had been flooded the year he was born, and that all magic books, scrolls, and tomes would have been lost forever had it not been for the highly intelligent mummering pufferfish that lived in the reef around the island. With their diligence towards knowledge, they created the famous Drown Library of Blackwell.

Sadly, due to the nature of where the library was located, it could only be accessed by fish. So, the fish decided to open their own schools. Thus, they formed the Blackwell Levels of Wisdom (B.L.O.W. for short), a multi-tiered education system for all the mummering pufferfish of Fillory. Over time other types of fish earned their spots in the prestigious fish schools. The meticulous mummering pufferfish added vast amounts of knowledge to their library. They were a highly revered intellectual authority in all of Fillory, not just for their kingdom.  

Unfortunately, when the fish tried to share the knowledge with those on land, they ran into some problems.

On her tenth birthday, Fen’s father told her as such while training her on how to fight with her new knife. (Fen thought it was a ploy to distract her, but it didn’t work. Oddly enough, she never forgot any of his lessons when told during training. Huh.)

“You see, Fen, while mummering pufferfish can read the original books and notes in their library, they can’t speak our languages.” He feinted to the right, figuring his daughter would, ahem, take the bait. She surprised him with counter balancing to be prepared for his swing from the left.  “The closest sound to human they can make is a murmur.” Fen pointed the knife at his throat. He was so proud that day that she was allowed to eat an extra piece of cake before bed. That night in bed though, she thought more on the intelligent fish. She would love to meet one someday, but knew that she would need a translator or an interpreter to do so. She vowed that she would learn the language of the fish.

Sadly, that skill did not come to her as easily as knife fighting. If she had maybe they would not be in this problem.

You see, when all of the magical craziness started to happen in Fillory after magic returning, nobody knew what the hell was going on. Time was unpredictable. Strange plants like beanstalks and vines with stickers overfilled the landscape. The weather would change from hot to cold hourly. And worst upon worse, the magic seemed to reset old laws and erase new history.

Case in point, Fen was no longer recognized as High King. Fen was no longer even _royalty_. It was like the election for Margo never happened according to their ledgers. What was even stranger, and horrifying, was that Fen’s _marriage_ was completely erased. It was like it never even happened. No one had ever heard of a magical annulment before, but it was the only explanation. She and the advisers went over the facts over and over again, only to come full circle and to be more confused. Eliot was the only recognized high king of Fillory. Margo was once again high queen, and Quentin and Alice were supporting royalty. But for Eliot to have ever been a king at all, he had to marry Fen. How was it possible that magic would reinstate his rule, but erase their marriage?

 As soon as magic came back unfiltered, all four crowns lifted from their resting places and floated over their thrones. Behind the thrones appeared the magically etched words that gave them their only clues:

_FILLORY WILL **ONLY** BE RULED BY ONE BORN A CHILD OF EARTH, OR FILLORY WILL PERISH. THE CROWNS WILL FLOAT UNTIL HIGH KING ELIOT COMPLETES HIS QUEST AND RENEWs HIS VOWS TO HIS OTHER HALF, AND HIGH QUEEN MARGO COMPLETES THE TRIALS OF UNBANISHMENT. ONLY THEN WILL HE BE A **GOOD** KING. ONLY THEN CAN SHE **RETURN**. UNTIL THESE TASKS ARE COMPLETE ONLY THEY WHO CAN HOLD THE CROWN MAY RULE FILLORY._

Many had tried to grab one of the crowns, but no ladders could reach them. No amount of jumping would make them accessible. In a fit of desperation, Fen had climbed onto King Quentin’s throne and leap for her former crown. It worked. She caught the crown. Instantly paperwork poofed into being stating that Fen was the temporary King of Fillory. But then the crown gave a massive struggled and slipped out of her hands. Just as the paperwork had come, it vanished away, leaving Fillory without a ruler. It took her two days to catch the crown again. Oddly enough the crown only came close if she stood on King Quentin’s throne, despite it being Eliot’s crown. After catching it a second time, she knew she had to hold on for dear life. Her people depended on it.

Those were there only clues, but they only spoke of how to stop the happenings. Nobody knew _why_ or how to deal with them until the needs were met. Well, that was until they got a coded message from B.L.O.W. Institute. The lead scholar, Huffleigh Puffdom, learned to speak the antiquated language of the crocodiles (antiquated because most crocodiles became bi-lingual when they went into the bootlegging business with human pirates, and lost their native tongue over time), and sent word. She knew why everything was happening, and what they could do to fix everything and save Fillory! As luck would have it, there was someone on the palace staff that could speak some of the antiquated language of the crocodiles. Wendall Hoodie, a teenage human member of the kitchen staff, was raised partially by his adopted grandmother Patricia, who was a crocodile. Knowing this, Tick sent the boy off to help retrieve the team of scholars and to be a translator.

It was not the best of circumstances.

Hoodie was a nervous lad, and deathly afraid of fish. He would faint as soon as he would see one. But what choice did they have?

Fen smiled, having hope.

“How is Wendall holding up?”

Tick grimaced.

“I’m afraid Mr. Hoodie needed the aid of smelling salts at least seven times.”

“On the journey?”

“No, in the courtyard. I have no idea how he managed to and from the shores Blackwell Isle, but from what I have heard, their conversations were stilted and not very long.”

Fen sighed.

“I just wish Josh was here. And Margo. They would know what to do.”

She knew she sounded wistful, but she tried her best to temper her heart. She was…aware of her feelings for both Margo and Josh. Who were a couple. And **only** her friends.

At first, she felt heartsickness bubbling in her chest, and couldn’t decide who she was jealous of.

Was it the way that Josh touched Margo’s cheek?

Or maybe the warmth in Margo’s gaze when she watched him cook?

Was it the way one of them kissed the other in the moonlight, or how one of them sounded when they made love? (Some of the castle walls were very, very thin. Especially in the kitchens.)

When she realized there was no jealously involved…that she cherished their love and wanted their love in return…she did not know what to do. Fen honestly had mixed feelings.

On the one hand she was glad that she was no longer married to Eliot when she realized who she was truly in love with. She truly had loved her husband and mourned for him when she thought he died.

On the other, she felt extremely guilty. Margo and Josh were her _friends_. They loved each other. Why would she ever want to come between them? She did not want to be one to break them up. She loved both of them and would feel like a part of her was missing if she lost either of them, or made them ever feel unloved.

Just having them gone from her sight hurt more than the cuts on her hands.

She had loved Eliot, and truly wanted him to be healthy and safe, but her love for him was…different.

 These feelings for both Margo and Josh were so fanatical and tremendous that they swallowed her whole. Fen wanted to be a part of what they had, to be a layer in their cake. Royals could in fact have two spouses! Maybe, if she professed her love…

But Fen was not royalty anymore. To be a royal she would have to be married to Eliot. Then she would have to lose one of them or both of them if they ever wanted to try. She was only a commoner that held the crown now. As much as she craved for her lady and manly loves, she could not dwell on the matters of her heart right now. Come what may, she needed to think about her people first.

She just wished her friends would hurry to her side.

Tick uncharacteristically sat down on the floor next to his interim king, noting her look of forlorn.

“I’m afraid, your interim majesty, that until a Child of Earth returns, we must put the fate of our world into the hands of Mr. Hoodie and the B.L.O.W. fish.”

* * *

 

Comments and Kudos = Love!

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	10. Healing Hearts (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to when Eliot saved Briarwood and became the old wizard of Fillory and Further. What could this mean for what is happening in the present?
> 
> Also, even old age can't keep Eliot and Quentin from shagging each other senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN TIME FOR THE HOLIDAYS!
> 
> This is in two parts because I just wanted to give everyone some Q and El love for the holidays!  
> Please let me know what you think! Have any theories?
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you! Come visit me at lunaraindrop on Tumblr!
> 
> Special thanks to zelmane, allegria, and a special anon with a wish. 
> 
> Commesnts and Kudos = Love!

 

* * *

_Eliot found out the riddle of The Mosaic long before Quentin ever did. Eliot thought that the Great Cock probably meant for it to happen that way. Living as a farmer when all he wanted in the world was to get away from that life was supposed to be some ironic joke, a nightmare for him._

_But it wasn’t._

_He loved his life._

_He got to know the people of Fillory better than any king could. To know the people’s strife, you have to live it yourself._

_Forgoing the luxury of air conditioning and the lotions to soften the thick callouses from past farm work, Eliot wiped the sweat from his brow under Fillory’s suns and dug in the dirt with his bare hands._

_Instead of buying expensive clothes and getting them tailored to perfectly fit his body, he was now wearing lopsided sweaters (for Quentin had learned to knit, “Fuck, I dropped a stitch again. This is going to be one weird looking sock”, and bartered for wool from those gossiping ewes down the lane. Eliot cherishes every piece made for him like it was Ralph Lauren), and even sewed clothes of his own._

_He helped build a fire brick oven so he and Q could have fresh baked bread. He had made butter from trading vegetables for cow’s milk at the neighboring town’s farmer’s market. (Because fuck goat's milk. He still hated it.)_

_This life was no nightmare. It was his miracle._

_Eliot found out the answer after the birth of his first grandchild. Bambi Arielle Coldwater-Waugh came into the word a screaming, squishy-faced diva._

_God, it was love at first sight all over again._

_First was this gorgeous, vicious deity that proved to be his kindred spirit, followed by a painfully cute nerd boy that tumbled out of some bushes. Then another smaller, beautiful boy that looked like the first placed in his uncertain arms by said beaming nerd, and now **her**. Rosy cheeked and strawberry blonde wisps of hair, named after two of his favorite women. While only one of those four were of the romantic variety, the love he felt was no less powerful or life changing to him. Eliot Coldwater-Waugh, who was told that love doesn’t work like it does in fairy tales, magic wasn’t real, and feared that he was incapable of love, found that he had magically fallen in love at first sight four times in his life._

_He knew he was a very, very lucky bastard._

_Like the real, non-Disney fairy tales though, this life he lived was not all happiness. Good things come with a price._

_This quest-this life- had taken one Bambi away from him but gifted him another._

_As per usual on every other Tuesday for years, Eliot went to the farmer’s market. This time he was aiming for something special. He had remembered Floretta Grundy’s stall having muted seafoam colored fabric that was as soft as peach fuzz.  It would make for a perfect onesie for his granddaughter. While visiting her she congratulated him on the newest member of their family._

_“Oh, a baby! How wonderful! May Ember and Umber bless her!” The plump woman happily sighed as she pulled her graying hair back into a ponytail and cut the yards of fabric. “It seems like only yesterday you and your Quentin were bringing that little boy to this naïve girl’s brand-new stall! You were one of my first costumers, you know? Now look, wee Ted is now a proud Papa with his own child! I have officially served three generations of Coldwater-Waughs!”_

_Three generations of Coldwater-Waughs. He, Q, their son, and now their granddaughter. They had a name. They had roots. They had a **history**. Eliot couldn’t help it, he felt immensely proud._

_Just as he was about to leave, Floretta got a soft, thoughtful look on her face. “You know, we used to talk around the town when you, Quentin, and Arielle first got married in the square, before she got sick. That’s when we first met you men, if you remember you silly old man. We would say how noble it was for you and your husband to dedicate your lives to answer the mystery of our sacred Mosaic. How caring and supportive our Arie was to join you in this endeavor. How you and your family were so loyal to finding Fillory’s truth through creativity and devotion.” She smiled as she handed him the bundle of cloth. “As an older woman now, I see things a bit differently. Call me sacrilegious, but I don’t think artwork is the answer. Not to discourage you, Eliot, but if you ask me, ‘The Beauty of All Life’ can’t be fit in a frame of rainbow tiles. It’s outside of it. It lies in your family.”_

_Eliot froze and came to the epiphany._

_“ **We** are the beauty of all life. What Q and I created.”_

_He might have also said something like “What the FUCK?!” in his shock, but he got the message. The Mosaic wasn’t going to show the beauty of all life. **They** were. This life he and Q made for themselves, that was the beauty. Their family was the beauty. Their home, their **love** , all of it was beautiful. All of it was sacred. None of it could be conveyed in tiles._

_When he came back to their little cottage, he found his husband and son passed out on the outdoor daybed, covered in the quilt he and Q made all those years ago from scraps of cloth they found to keep them warm at night. It survived all these years (and one rambunctious toddler). On their son’s chest laid the baby, his precious Bambi Jr, in the midst of his two oafs that obviously had tried to get her to sleep. In Q’s hand was their old copy of Fillorian nursery rhymes that they used to read Teddy as a boy. He knew if he walked into his home his daughter in law would be asleep. His son was being a good father and taking his turn with his colicky daughter. Q, also being a good father and a stand-up grandad was trying to help soothe her._

_It seems that she outlasted them both. That was both endearing and comical._

_She didn’t seem to be upset now, though. If anything, her round eyes, so like her namesake, seemed to be locked on him._

_Perhaps…she was waiting for him._

_So, he gently scooped her up and talked to her about the adventures they would have, he and her. He had plans. Oh, he was going to spoil her rotten. He would make her any juice she liked, and he would teach her to dance. They could sunbathe on the large rocks by the river, go shopping for the best toys and clothes the nearby towns had to offer, and play silly pranks on Granddad and her parents. And just like their little boy, if she had magical abilities, he and Q would teach her magic too._

_It was then that he realized that he could never go back. He would never see Margo again. This life had given him something precious, not to replace his very best friend, but to make up for it. He had first gone to Fillory young and broken thinking that he would die. Instead he became a king. This time going into Fillory, he was on a quest as a king, and would die here an old man. He wouldn’t be getting out this time. And he…was okay with it._

_He never thought he would grow old. He never thought he would find the love of his life. He never thought he would have children or fuck it all, even grandchildren. He never thought he would have a **family**. But he did. He and Quentin built this amazing, fulfilling life together, and  he would rather lightning strike him down now than to ever lose it. To Eliot, there were no possibilities for second chances for something as miraculous as this. _

_As he stood there rocking the new Bambi in his life, he looked at his two favorite men under the quilt, the beauty of his life, and accepted his fate._

 

* * *

_Eliot’s hand shook as he tried to move his Bishop diagonally across the chess board, while Ted focused on his next move. This was a thing they did, a family tradition the three older Coldwater-Waugh men and one Coldwater-Waugh woman did. Julian Makepeace Coldwater-Waugh, the hyperactive ball of boy, was more interesting in climbing clock trees and pretending to be a pirate than sit still long enough to learn. That avenue was taken up by his older sister Bambi. The clever girl had bested her father more than once, and while she had come close to beating him, her much adored “Grandpa”, she never bested her “Granddad” Q. Like with playing cards, Quentin just had some otherworldly knack for the Game of Kings. That left Eliot and Ted practicing possible strategies to take down Quentin when Ted’s family came to visit. Ted’s beloved wife and their daughter in law, while very clever herself, never opted to play. During their visits (when she wasn’t whisked away by work) she would either talk excitedly with Quentin for hours or sit quietly by the fire and read. She happily let her fathers in law take care of entertaining the children for a while._

_And entertain they did._

_Eliot in his role of Grandpa did everything he promised Bambi jr. and more. He spoiled both of his grandkids with toys and beautifully crafted costumes. "Junior" as he liked to call her, favored smart but colorful dresses with deep pockets to carry her treasures, including shiny rocks and pocket knife with a mother of pearl inlay. (It made him smile to think how much Fen would have liked her.) Julian on the other hand wanted to look like Captain Jack Sparrow, one of the many stories "Granddad" told the children. While he couldn't move around very much, all three would sunbathe, before Julian had enough and would splash them with a canon ball dive._

_Quentin was outside with the grandkids, reading an adventure story loudly in different voices, and would chase after the gigglers pretending to be a dragon. The dork. Eliot loved it when he told stories. He was the perfect storyteller. (And so so hot.) It still baffled Eliot how they found copies of The Hobbit in Rivertown’s bookstore._

_Ted and his little family never stayed in one place for very long, being adventurers themselves. Both he and his wife had busy, important jobs to do. Ted, for example was Fillory's equivalent for a human doctor. Magically gifted like his dads, Ted had left home and trained with the centaurs to become a healer. Healing was his discipline. He and Quentin had danced with joy the day they realized their son could be a magician. They also thanked fuck that he would never have to face Mayakovsky._

_Time had been kind to Q. He was still a little spry in his old again, enough to help play with the grandkids. Eliot…not so much. It was one of the reasons he was inside the cottage playing chess with Ted while Quentin, Bambi and Julian were outside. Arthritis was a bitch. Moving around and doing the simplest tasks like brushing his hair and placing tiles could be painful and took extra care._

_Much to his and Quentin’s joy… and their son’s discomfort, even inelastic joints did not hinder their sex life._

_Far from it._

_Old age just made he and his husband more…creative._

_T_ _he sex continued to be amazing._

_E_ _xplosive._

_Transcendent._

_The best either of them had ever had._

_But it was not the same sex as they had in their youth._

_Old age changes how bodies move and come together. While they could never seem to keep their hands off each other, both men had to learn to be mindful of not fun stiffness (erectile dysfunction was definity not a problem either of them had), hip displacements, and bad knees. (All of which their son had treated them for and rolled his eyes at how the injuries happened.)_

_Nowadays the finger fucking of their youth had to be replaced by magical toys. Eliot particularly loved to rail his husband senseless with a soft, thin, curved enchanted stone while whispering dirty, loving and praising things into his ear. Q was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, white hair and winkles and all. He worked hard at combating his insecurities. And Quentin still moaned  and babbled so loud and prettily for him. That never stopped being fucking sexy._

_After slipping in the tub one too many times (for both sexy and non-sex related instances) fucking in the bath was replaced with meticulous, intimate sponge bathing. Quentin, the cheeky, naughty elder, would use this as an excuse to rim him for hours, until he was sated and hoarse from all the shouting. Of course Q would be a smug bastard for days after._

_Standing sex was out, as were either of them being on their knees for long periods of time. They got creative in their bed and often gave each other enthusiastic oral or made love while spooning._

_Yes, their cravings for each other had never subsided, and their love only grew and matured in time, like a fine wine._

_Unlike a fine wine though, Eliot had a shorter shelf life._

_He could feel it in his bones, he wasn’t going to live much longer. Maybe it was his magic that knew his upcoming expiration date._

_Keeping his eyes on the board, Eliot steeled himself and spoke to his son._

_“Ted…I don’t think I’m going to be around much longer.”_

_Not looking up from his pawns, Ted laughed…but it sounded kind of hollow. “Papa, you and Dad have been working that Mosaic for years. Do you have some new pattern planned that you think will finally crack the code?”_

_With his shaking withered hand, Eliot stopped Ted’s next move in midair. While his body was deteriorating, his magical abilities were as strong as ever. The action forced the two Coldwater-Waugh men to finally look at each other in the eye._

_Eliot tried to be easy on the boy turned man._

_“That’s not what I meant Ted…and I think you know it”_

_It always amazed Eliot just how much Ted was **his** son. He might look like Quentin’s clone, and he definity gained his patience and health consciousnesses from Arie, but his personality, his dry wit, his humor, they were all **him**. _

_He knew his son got the message when he looked outside to Q making roaring character noises to the delighted screaming children. If Quentin knew that Eliot felt like he was going to die, it would push him into an earlier grave with worry and heartbreak. Any time they would have left would be for Quentin trying harder to solve the Mosaic faster, or to nearly drown Eliot in what had newly been named Chatwin’s Torrent. Neither of them wanted that for Quentin._

_Ted swallowed hard, quickly swept at his eyes and regally tilted his chin. He and Q had always told him that it was okay to cry and to express your feelings. However, he was a Waugh through and through, even without the matching DNA. Crying made you look puffy and molten red. How gross. That was too much of a telling sign when you want to hide something worrying from a Coldwater. To hide your turmoil and sadness, you have to put on your best theatre mask. While they had a mostly happy life, Ted seemed to learn this lesson from the best._

_He looked to Eliot with a wry smile. “Yeah…I noticed that with my last scan yesterday. That damn heart of yours. You fucking worked it overtime all these years with Dad and I. Has anyone ever told you that you love too hard, Pops?”_

_Oh, the irony of that. When Eliot reinvented himself, he tried to mold himself into a man that was indifferent and unaffected, that partied hard and shunned true emotion. How strange that probably one of the few people that truly knew him would accuse him of being such a lover and caretaker._

_But he was, wasn’t he? It is strange how true nature always finds a way to uproot your plans. He had planned to be elegant socialite, a hedonist that would have a string of faceless lovers until his very untimely young death. Instead he was married to his best friend, farming, and had raised a child. And he loved them with everything he had. He would give anything, bleed the blood out of his veins, sacrifice everything his had to make them happy. It made him strangely happy too._

_With one more mirrored look towards their beloved nerd, the chess game continued as they discussed plans on what Ted was to do in the event of losing one father, not two._

* * *

_A week after Ted and the children left, Eliot surprised Quentin with a third honeymoon. Quentin was ecstatic. After all of these years, he was finally going to go on a boat adventure! There was a small but touristy cruise on the Milkwater River every few years, and Eliot had gifted him with tickets for the boat. Well, first they were booked to go on what Fillory considered a “leisure carriage tour” through the countryside, which they both knew was going to be a cramped four-day ride in a dressed-up turnip cart pulled by two talking donkeys that told really bad jokes. (That had been their experience for their second honeymoon to the lunar flower festival. Luckily that was only a two day ride up and back.)_

_Only…they never made it to port. On the third day Eliot got really sick. He was pale, sweaty, and had chest pains. At first, he tried to play them off and reassure Quentin that everything was fine. Then he passed out. Terrified, Quentin made them do an impromptu stop in a village in the middle of the night. He knocked on every door he could find, screaming for a healer. Most of the houses were boarded up or looked abandoned. It was on the seven building that someone opened the door. While not a healer, the lady of the house did have some medicine that she said could help, and welcomed the men into her home. The medicine in question was a few years old, and thick and congealed like old marmalade. She said it was her mother’s old medicine that she left behind before moving, and while it was stickier than it used to be, it should do the trick to temporarily help Eliot until they got him to a healer._

_They had no choice. Eliot coughed down the elixir, and while it seemed to stop his apparent heart attack, he was left very weak._

_“You can rest here for the night, gentlemen.” The lady turned to Quentin. “At first light I will let you borrow one of my horses. The ride will be long and hard to Hen’s Teeth, but hopefully going so early will get you back here in two days.”_

_Quentin looked at his frail husband, laying listlessly on a stranger’s couch. He touched his cheek, smoothing a white curl from his forehead, and fought the urge to cry. At his age and health, while he might survive the trip to Hen’s Teeth, he probably wouldn’t make it back. He would still have tried to go, be it a suicide mission or not, but who would lead the healer back here? Q didn’t even know where **here** was! No, they needed a better solution._

_“Two days?! He doesn’t have two hours! Isn’t there a closer healer?”_

_The lady sadly shrugged._

_“I wish there were, sir. Unfortunately, most people have moved far away from Briarwood. I myself have stayed this long only to help the orphanage prepare to move the children.”_

_That drew Q up short. Looking out the window he finally noticed the shadowed, curled set of vines trying to obscure the moon. If he wasn’t about to fall to his knees in despair, he would have been fascinated by the sight._

_“Did you just say Briarwood?”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_Slowly he walked to the window, looking at miles of sharp, pointy vegetation._

_Staring wide-eyed, he knew they were screwed._

_“Shit. This is the real Briarwood.”_

_Gripping the windowsill, he gently called back to the kind woman over his shoulder._

_“Yes, the h-horse. I’ll be needing one in the morning. Thank you so much for helping us.”_

_He didn’t hear what she said. Instead he waited until the house was quiet, likely she had turned in for the evening. With that Quentin dropped down and passionately kissed the man he loved. With tears dropping from his lashes, he put on his bravest smile, he said, “Well, looks like we’re having our honeymoon in Briarwood. Come outside. Let’s sit under the moon, and I’ll tell you a story.”_

_Eliot managed a small smile of his own and kissed Quentin's hand. “Oh, my sexy little nerd. You know how much I love your stories. Help me up.”_

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Comments and Kudos = Love!


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